
Class *?N <>3-3\ 



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Copyright^ , 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



CHARACTERISTIC PASSAGES 

FROM THE 

HUNDRED BEST ENGLISH PROSE-WRITERS 




From Posselwhite's Engraving of the Print by 
y. Honbraken, 1738. 



CHARACTERISTIC PASSAGES 



FROM THE 



Hundred Best 
English Prose- Writers 



SELECTED BY 



ADAM L. GOWANS, M.A. 



NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






Copyright, 1910, 
By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 

©CIA 2684 76 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

30. Addison (1672-17 19). .Sir Roger de Coverley^s 

Churchy , 65 

96. Arnold (1822-1888) . . Rallyi7ig the Philistine, 228 

59. Austen (1775-1817) . . The Rev. Mr, Collins a?id his 

Patronesses, 135 

10. Bacon (1 561-1626) . . Of Studies, 21 

24. Barrow (1630- 167 7) . .Definition of Facetioushess, . . . 52 
15. Baxter (161 5-1 691). . Of the Resurrection of the 

Dead, 30 

34. Berkeley (1685-17 53) . . The Lowly Origin of Christ,. . yy 

31. Bolingbroke (1678- 

17 51 ) Man Independent of Circum- 
stances, 68 

84. Borrow (1 803-1 881) . . A Gypsy on Life and Death, . . 198 
55. Boswell ( 1 740-1795) . .Boswell meets Dr. Johnson,. . . 126 

79. Bronte, C. (1816-55). • -f ane Pyre parts from her 

Cousins, 183 

80. Bronte, E. ( 1818-48) ...The Pnd of the Story, 168 

90. Brown (1810-1882) . .A Reminiscence of an Uncle,. . 212 

12. Browne (160 5-1682) . . The Nobility of Man, 24 

25. Bunyan (1628-1688) .A Christian Soldier, 55 

50. Burney (17 52-1840) . . Unamiable Sisters, 116 

57. Burke (1729-1797). .In Reply to the Duke of Bed- 

ford, 131 

9. Burton (1577-1639) . .Concerning the Law, 19 

36. Butler (1692-17 52). .Possibility of a Future Life,. . 83 

68. Byron (1788-1824) . . To his Wife, 155 

74. Carlyle (1795-1881). . The Fall of the Bastille, .. 171 

39. Chesterfield (1694- Some Characteristics of Vul- 

l 77Z) garity, 91 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

23. Clarendon (1608-74) . . Character of the Earl of 

Arundle, 48 

61. Coleridge (1 772-1834) . .Advice to Young Authors, 140 

28. Congreve( 1 6y 0-17 29). .Millamant, Mirabell, Mrs, 

Fainall, Witwoud, 60 

18. Cowley (1618-1667). . The Career of Oliver Crom- 

well, . = 36 

52. Cowper (1731-1800) . . The Death of the Fox, 119 

89. Darwin ( 1 809-1 882) . . Conclusion, 209 

32. Defoe (1659 ?-i73i ).,A Footprint in the Sand, 70 

67. De Quincey (1785- 

1 589) A Dream of Easter Sunday, . . 1 54 

76. Dickens (181 2-1870) . . Mr. f ingle and fob Trotter take 

leave, . 176 

21. Dryden (1631-1700) .. Shakespeare in an Undiscern- 

ing Age, 42 

60. Edgeworth (1767- Mrs. Hungerford, 1 38 

1849) 
91. Eliot (181 9-1 880). . Godfrey Cass unburdens his 

Mind, 214 

70. Ferrier (1782-1854) . . Character of Lord Rossville,. . 161 
37. Fielding, ( 1707-17 54). .Parson Adams questions the 

Landlord, 86 

97. Fitz Gerald (1809-83) . . To Fanny Kemble, 230 

88. Froude (1818-1894). .Engla?id in Olden Days,..,, 207 

19. Fuller (1608-1661) . . Mount Edgcumbe, 38 

66. Gait ( 1 779-1839) . . Drawing to an End, 1 50 

86. Gaskell (18 10-1865) . . Captain Brown, 201 

53. Gibbon (1737-1794) • • Gibbon as a Lover, 122 

45. Goldsmith (1728-74). . George Primrose goes to Lon- 
don, 105 

43. Gray (17 16-1 JJ 1 ). . Froissarf s "Chronicles," ... . 102 

71. Hallam (1777-1859) . . The Revolution of 1688, . . . v . . . 163 
69. Hazlitt (iyyS-iS^o)..On the Fear of Death, 158 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

13. Herbert (1 583-1648) . . " An Host's Daughter," 26 

1 6. Hobbes ( 1 588-1 679) . . Grounds of Belief , . . . 33 

5. Hooker (1554-1600). .Of Sudden Death II 

38. Hume (1711-1776). . Of the Middle Station of Life, 88 

83. Hunt ( 1 784-1859) . . A Reminiscence of Shelley ', 195 

51. Johnson (1709-1783). .Pope's professed Contempt of 

the World, 118 

11. Jonson (c. 1573— 1637). .Memoria, 23 

78. Kinglake (1809-1891). .An Englishman in the Desert, 181 

87. Kingsley (18 1 9-18 7 6). .A my as Leigh's Drea?n, 204 

64. Lamb (177 5-1834) . .Mrs. Battle on Whist, 145 

85. Landor (1775-1864) . .ALsop and Rhodope, 200 

26. Locke ( 1 632-1 704). . The Limitations of Human 

Knowledge, , 57 

75. Lockhart (1794-1854). .Sunday Evenings at Sir Walter 

Scott's, 174 

3. Lyly (1 553-1606) . . Remedies against Love, , , 6 

82. Lytton ( 1 803-1 87 3). .How a Child's Name was 

chosen, 191 

81. Macaulay (1800-18 59). .St. Peter's Chapel in the Tower, 188 

1. Malory (1433-1475). .Sir Dinadan the Humorous,. . 1 

98. Meredith (1828-1909) . .Banter before Di7iner, 231 

93. Mill ( 1 806-1873) . . Character of his Wife, 221 

14. Milton (i6oS-i6y 4) . .Of Grandmotherly Legislation, 28 

73. Mitford (1787-1855) . . A Do?nestic Episode, 168 

41. Montagu (1689-1762) . .An Italian Doctor, 96 

72. Moore ( 1 799-1852). .Lord Byron in 1S23, 166 

2. More ( 1 478-1 535) • • Description of Jane Shore, .... 4 

95. Newman (1S01-1S90) . . Newman at Fifteen, 226 

8. Overbury ( 1 581-1 61 3) . . A Fair and Happy Milkmaid, lj 

99. Pater (1839-1894^1 . . The Death of Marius, 233 

62. Peacock (1785-1866) . .The Charms of Childhood,. . . 142 

35. Pope (16S8-1744) . .In Reply to Lord Hervey,. ... 8l 

56. Radcliffe (1 764-1823).. Ludovico the Night before his 

Disappearance, 1 29 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



7. Raleigh (1 552-1618) . . Death the Convincer, 41 

92. Reade ( 1814-1884) . . A Scrupulous Conscience, 218 

42. Richardson (1689- 

1761) Miss Grandison, Harriet 

Byron, Lady L., . . . . , 99 

46. Robertson (1721-93) .. The Death of the Chevalier 

Bayard, 107 

7 7 . Ruskin ( 1 8 1 9- 1 900) . . A Plea for Living A r lists, .... 179 

63. Scott (177 1-1832) . .Richard Coeur-de-Lion, 143 

6. Shakespeare (1564- 

161 6) Brutus at Ccesar's Funeral, ... 13 

65. Shelley (1792-1822) . . Of Poetry, 147 

49. Sheridan (1751-1816). .Charles Surface sells his An- 
cestor's Portraits, 113 

4. Sidney (1 554-1 586) . . The Stag Hunt, 9 

48. Smith (1 7 23- 1 7 90). . Taxes upon the Necessaries of 

Life, ill 

47. Smollett (1721-1771) . . Lismahago's Revenge, 109 

27. South (1633-17 1 6) . . On Mutations of Fortune, 58 

58. Southey (177 4-1843). .Effects of the Death of Nelson, 133 
29. Steele (167 '2-17 '29). .Isaac Bicker staff, Esq., Censor 

of Great Britain, 63 

44. Sterne (1713-1768)..^ Discussion regarding Le 

Fevre, 103 

100. Stevenson (1850-94) . .An Eventful Sabbath Morning, 235 

33. Swift ( 1 667-1 745) . . A Humane King, 73 

1 7 . Taylor ( 1 61 3- 1 667 ) . . Of the Married State, 34 

94. Thackeray ( 181 1-63). ." Our Daily Bread," 224 

20. Tillotson ( 1 630-1 694) . . The Danger of Atheism, 40 

40. Walpole (1717-1797) . . The Beautiful Miss Gunnings, 94 
22. Walton (i593- T 683).. The Marriage of Richard 

Hooker, , 43 

54. White (1720-1793) . " The Raven Tree," 125 



PREFATORY NOTE 

I have never seen anything just like the little prose 
anthology which I now lay before lovers of good writing 
in general and teachers of English literature in particular. 
I believe that it supplies a long-felt want. Many hand- 
books contain no specimens whatever of the authors 
whose works and lives they describe, whereas the charac- 
teristics of their styles can be far more easily impressed 
upon the student's mind by the reading of actual passages 
from the writings cited, and by the teacher's remarks 
upon them, than by any amount of description. It is 
remarkable how plainly the prevailing qualities of an 
author reveal themselves in a very short passage, and the 
extracts given in the present volume are not too short to 
convey a clear idea of the styles of their writers. 

Besides being characteristic, each passage is also in- 
teresting — either because of its descriptive or narrative 
merit, or from what it reveals of its author's character^ 
or opinions, or times. The teacher will be able to point 
out, for instance, not only how the leading qualities of 
the style of the Decline and Fall appear in Gibbon's 
account of his early love-affair, but also how in these 

two pages he lays bare the worldliness of his nature. 

ix 



x PREFATORY NOTE 

Extracts such as those from Bunyan, Butler, or Fielding 
will enable him to inculcate ethical and religious principles 
in a very striking manner. Others will suggest useful 
lessons in history, biography, politics, or philosophy. A 
solecism may even be discovered occasionally, such as 
that in the extract from Kinglake (corrected in later 
editions), and may serve to point a moral. 

In order that specimens of as many celebrated authors 
as possible who are principally known as prose-writers 
might be included, I found it necessary to adopt certain 
arbitrary rules of selection, I therefore omitted, in the 
first place, old dramatists who wrote mainly in blank 
verse, making exceptions in the case of Shakespeare and 
Jonson, and in the second place, I excluded all transla- 
tions, giving a place to the " Morte d' Arthur " as being 
an original work, though founded on French legends. 

Except in a few cases, where I preferred a later edition, 
the texts given are those which first appeared in print, 
but of course in modern spelling. Extracts from post- 
humous works, however, are dated with the year, or 
approximately so, in which they were composed ; and 
letters always with the year in which they were written. 
I may add that the selection has again been confined to 
the works of deceased authors, and that the titles given 
to the extracts are mostly my own ; also that I hope to 
follow up this volume with a second on similar lines. 

A. L. G 



SIR THOMAS MALORY 

I. Sir Dinadan the Humorous 

So Sir Tristram told La Beale Isoud of all his 
adventure as ye have heard tofore. And when 
she heard him tell of Sir Dinadan, Sir, she said, 
is not that he that made the song by king Mark ? 
That same is he, said Sir Tristram, for he is the 
best joker and jester, and a noble knight of his 
hands, and the best fellow that I know, and all 
good knights love his fellowship. Alas, Sir, 
said she, why brought ye not him with you? 
Have ye no care, said Sir Tristram, for he rideth 
to seek me in this country, and therefore he will 
not away till he have met with me. And there 
Sir Tristram told La Beale Isoud how Sir Dina- 
dan held against all lovers. Right so there came 
in a varlet and told Sir Tristram how there was 
come an errant knight into the town with such 
colors upon his shield. That is Sir Dinadan, 
said Sir Tristram. Wit ye what ye shall do? 



2 SIR THOMAS MALORY 

said Sir Tristram; send ye for him, my lady 
Isoud, and I will not be seen, and ye shall hear 
the merriest knight that ever ye spake withal, 
and the maddest talker, and I pray you heartily 
that ye make him good cheer. Then anon La 
Beale Isoud sent into the town, and prayed Sir 
Dinadan that he would come into the castle and 
repose him there, with a lady. With a good will, 
said Sir Dinadan. And so he mounted upon his 
horse, and rode into the castle, and there he 
alight, and was unarmed, and brought into the 
castle. Anon La Beale Isoud came unto him, 
and either saluted other. Then she asked him of 
whence that he was. Madam, said Dinadan, I 
am of the court of king Arthur, and knight of 
the Table Round, and my name is Sir Dinadan. 
What do ye in this country ? said La Beale Isoud. 
Madam, said he, I seek Sir Tristram the good 
knight, for it was told me that he was in this 
country. It may well be, said La Beale Isoud, 
but I am not aware of him. Madam, said Dina- 
dan, I marvel of Sir Tristram and more other 
lovers, what aileth them to be so mad and so 
sotted upon women. Why, said La Beale Isoud, 
are ye a knight and be no lover ? It is shame to - 



SIR THOMAS MALORY 3 

you : wherefore ye may not be called a good 
knight but if ye make a quarrel for a lady. Nay, 
said Sir Dinadan, for the joy of love is too short, 
and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, 
dureth over long. Ah, said La Beale Isoud, say 
ye not so, for here fast by was the good knight 
Sir Bleoberis, that fought with three knights at 
once for a damsel's sake, and he wan her afore 
the king of Northumberland. It was so, said 
Sir Dinadan, for I know him well for a good 
knight and a noble, and come of noble blood, for 
all be noble knights of whom he is come of, that 
is Sir Lancelot du Lake. Now I pray you, said 
La Beale Isoud, tell me will ye fight for my love 
with three knights that done me great wrong ? and 
in so much as ye be a knight of king Arthur's I 
require you to do battle for me. Then Sir Dina- 
dan said, I shall say you be as fair a lady as 
ever I saw any, and much fairer than is my lady 
queen Guenever, but, wit ye well at one word, 
I will not fight for you with three knights, 
Heaven defend me. . Then Isoud laughed, and 
had good game at him. 

Le Morte Darthur (1470), x., lvi 

v 



SIR THOMAS MORE 

2. Description of Jane Shore 

This woman was born in London, worshipfully 
friended, honestly brought up, and very well 
married, saving somewhat too soon, her husband 
an honest citizen, young and goodly and of good 
substance. Proper she was and fair; nothing in 
her body that you would have changed, but if 
you would have wished her somewhat higher. 
Thus say they that knew her in her youth. Al- 
beit some that now see her (for yet she liveth) 
deem her never to have been well-visaged. 
Whose judgment seemeth me somewhat like as 
though men should guess the beauty of one long 
before departed, by her scalp taken out of the 
charnel-house ; for now is she old, lean, withered, 
and dried up, nothing left but rivelled skin and 
hard bone. And yet being even such, whoso 
well advise her visage, might guess and devise 
which parts how filled would make it a fair face. 
Yet delighted not men so much in her beauty, as 
in her pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had 

3 



SIR THOMAS MORE 5 

she, and could both read well and write, merry 
in company, ready and quick of answer, neither 
mute nor full of babble, sometime taunting with- 
out displeasure and not without disport. In 
whom the king therefore took special pleasure. 
Whose favour, to say the truth ( for sin it were 
to belie the devil), she never abused to any man's 
hurt, but to many a man's comfort and relief: 
where the king took displeasure she would miti- 
gate and appease his mind : where men were out 
of favour, she would bring them in his grace. 
For many that had highly offended, she obtained 
pardon. Of great forfeitures she got men re- 
mission. And finally in many weighty suits, she 
stood many men in great stead, either for none, 
or very small rewards, and those rather gay than 
rich; either for that she was content with the 
deed self well done, or for that she delighted to 
be sued unto, and to show what she was able to 
do with the king, or for that wanton women and 
wealthy be not always covetous. I doubt not 
some shall think this woman too slight a thing 
to be written of and set among the remembrances 
of great matters ; which they shall specially think, 
that haply shall esteem her only by that they now 



6 SIR THOMAS MORE 

see her. But meseemeth the chance so much the 
more worthy to be remembered, in how much 
she is now in the more beggarly condition, un- 
friended and worn out of acquaintance, after 
good substance, after as great favour with the 
prince, after as great suit and seeking to with all 
those that those days had business to speed, as 
many other men were in their times, which be 
now famous, only by the infamy of their ill deeds. 
Her doings were not much less, albeit they be 
much less remembered, because they were not so 
evil. For men use if they have an evil turn, to 
write it in marble : and whoso doth us a good 
turn, we write it in dust, which is not worst 
proved by her: for at this day she beggeth of 
many at this day living, that at this day had 
begged if she had not been. 

The History of King Richard (c. 1 513) 

JOHN LYLY 

3. Remedies against Love 

Eschew idleness, my Philautus, so shalt thou 
easily unbend the bow and quench the brands of 
Cupid. Love gives place to labour ; labour and 



JOHN LYLY 7 

thou shalt never love. Cupid is a crafty child, 
following those at an inch that study pleasure, 
and flying those swiftly that take pains. Bend 
thy mind to the law, whereby thou mayest have 
understanding of old and ancient customs, de- 
fend thy clients, enrich thy coffers, and carry 
credit in thy country. If law seem loathsome 
unto thee, search the secrets of physic, whereby 
thou mayest know the hidden natures of herbs, 
whereby thou mayest gather profit to thy purse 
and pleasure to thy mind. What can be more 
exquisite in human affairs than for every fever 
be it never so hot, for every palsy be it never 
so cold, for every infection be it never so strange, 
to give a remedy ? The old verse standeth as yet 
in his old virtue : that Galen giveth goods, Jus- 
tinian honours. If thou be so nice that thou canst 
no way brook the practice of physic, or so un- 
wise that thou wilt not beat thy brains about the 
institutes of the law, confer all thy study, all thy 
time, all thy treasure, to the attaining of the 
sacred and sincere knowledge of divinity. By 
this mayest thou bridle thine incontinency, rein 
thine affections, restrain thy lust. Here shalt 
thou behold as it were in a glass, that all the 



8 JOHN LYLY 

glory of man is as the grass, that all things 
under heaven are but vain, that our life is but a 
shadow, a warfare, a pilgrimage, a vapour, a 
bubble, a blast; of such shortness, that David 
saith it is but a span long; of such sharpness, 
that Job noteth it replenished with all miseries; 
of such uncertainty, that we are no sooner born, 
but we are subject to death, the one foot no 
sooner on the ground, but the other ready to 
slip into the grave. Here shalt thou find ease 
for thy burden of sin, comfort for thy conscience 
pined with vanity, mercy for thine offences by 
the martyrdom of thy sweet Saviour. By this 
thou shalt be able to instruct those that be weak, 
to confute those that be obstinate, to confound 
those that be erroneous, to confirm the faithful, 
to comfort the desperate, to cut off the presump- 
tuous, to save thine own soul by thy sure faith, 
and edify the hearts of many by thy sound doc- 
trine. If this seem too strait a diet for thy strain- 
ing disease, or too holy a profession for so hol- 
low a person, then employ thyself to martial 
feats, to jousts, to tourneys, yea, to all torments, 
rather than to loiter in love. 

Euphues, The Anatomy of Wit (1578) 



SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 

4. The Stag Hunt 

Then would he tell them stories of such gal- 
lants as he had known : and so with pleasant com- 
pany beguiled the time's haste, and shortened the 
way's length, till they came to the side of the 
wood, where the hounds were in couples stay- 
ing their coming, but with a whining accent 
craving liberty, many of them in colour and marks 
so resembling, that it showed they were of one 
kind. The huntsmen, handsomely attired in their 
green liveries as though they were children of 
summer, with staves in their hands to beat the 
guiltless earth when the hounds were at a fault, 
and with horns about their necks to sound an 
alarm upon a silly fugitive : the hounds were 
straight uncoupled, and ere long the stag thought 
it better to trust to the nimbleness of his feet 
than to the slender fortification of his lodging: 
but even his feet betrayed him, for howsoever they 
went, they themselves uttered themselves to the 
scent of their enemies, who, one taking it of 
another, and sometimes believing the wind's ad- 

9 



10 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 

vertisement, sometimes the view of their faith- 
ful counsellors the huntsmen, with open mouths 
then denounced war, when the war was already 
begun ; their cry being composed of so well sorted 
mouths, that any man would perceive therein 
some kind of proportion, but the skilful woodmen 
did find a music. Then delight, and variety of 
opinion, drew the horsemen sundry ways, yet 
cheering their hounds with voice and horn, kept 
still, as it were, together. The wood seemed to 
conspire with them against his own citizens, 
dispersing their noise through all his quarters, 
and even the nymph Echo left to bewail the loss 
of Narcissus, and became a hunter. But the stag 
was in the end so hotly pursued that, leaving 
his flight, he was driven to make courage of de- 
spair, and so, turning his head, made the hounds, 
with change of speech, to testify that he was at 
bay, as if from hot pursuit of their enemy, they 
were suddenly come to a parley. 

Arcadia (c. 1850), Bk. i 



RICHARD HOOKER 

5. Of Sudden Death 

Our good or evil estate after death dependeth 
most upon the quality of our lives. Yet some- 
what there is why a virtuous mind should rather 
wish to depart this world with a kind of treat- 
able dissolution, than to be suddenly cut off in 
a moment ; rather to be taken than snatched away 
from the face of the earth. 

Death is that which all men suffer, but not all 
men with one mind, neither all men in one man- 
ner. For being of necessity a thing common, it 
is through the manifold persuasions, dispositions, 
and occasions of men, with equal desert both of 
praise and dispraise, shunned by some, by others 
desired. So that absolutely we cannot discom- 
mend, we cannot absolutely approve, either will- 
ingness to live or forwardness to die. 

And concerning the ways of death, albeit the 
choice thereof be only in his hands who alone 
hath power over all flesh, and unto whose appoint- 
ment we ought with patience meekly to submit 
ourselves (for to be agents voluntarily in our 



12 RICHARD HOOKER 

own destruction is against both God and nature) ; 
yet there is no doubt but in so great variety, our 
desires will and may lawfully prefer one kind be- 
fore another. Is there any man of worth or vir- 
tue, although not instructed in the school of 
Christ, or ever taught what the soundness of re- 
ligion meaneth, that had not rather end the days 
of this transitory life as Cyrus in Xenophon, or 
in Plato Socrates are described, than to sink down 
with them of whom Elihu hath said, Momento 
moriuntur, " there is scarce an instant between 
their flourishing and their not being ? " But let 
us which know what it is to die as Absalom or 
Ananias and Sapphira died, let us beg of God 
that when the hour of our rest is come, the pat- 
terns of our dissolution may be Jacob, Moses, 
Joshua, David; who leisurely ending their lives 
in peace, prayed for the mercies of God to come 
upon their posterity; replenished the hearts of 
the nearest unto them with words of memorable 
consolation; strengthened men in the fear of 
God; gave them wholesome instructions of life, 
and confirmed them in true religion; in sum, 
taught the world no less virtuously how to die 
than they had done before how to live. 

Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity (1597), Bk. v., Ch. xlvi 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
6. Brutus at Ccesar's Funeral 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for 
my cause, and be silent, that you may hear: 
believe me for mine honour, and have respect to 
mine honour, that you may believe : censure me 
in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you 
may the better judge. If there be any in this 
assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I 
say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than 
his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose 
against Caesar, this is my answer : not that I loved 
Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 
you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, 
than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen? 
As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was 
fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I 
honour him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. 
There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; 
honour for his valour ; and death for his ambition. 
Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If 

13 



V 



I 4 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 

any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so vile, that will not love his country ? If 
any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause 
for a reply. [All. None, Brutus, none.] Then 
none have I offended. I have done no more to 
Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The ques- 
tion of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his 
glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, 
nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered 
death. [Enter Antony and others, with Casar's 
body.] Here comes his body, mourned by Mark 
Antony : who, though he had no hand in his 
death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a 
place in the commonwealth ; as which of you shall 
not ? With this I depart, — that, as I slew my best 
lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dag- 
ger for myself, when it shall please my country 
to need my death. 

Julius Ccesar (1601), Act iii., Sc. ii 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH 

7. Death the Convincer 

For the rest, if we seek a reason of the succes- 
sion and continuance of this boundless ambition 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 15 

in mortal men, we may add to that which hath 
been already said, that the kings and princes of 
the world have always laid before them the 
actions, but not the ends, of those great ones 
which preceded them. They are always trans- 
ported with the glory of the one, but they never 
mind the misery of the other, till they find the ex- 
perience in themselves. They neglect the advice 
of God, while they enjoy life, or hope it ; but they 
follow the counsel of Death upon his first ap- 
proach. It is he that puts into man all the wis- 
dom of the world, without speaking a word, which 
God, with all the words of his law, promises, or 
threats, doth not infuse. Death, which hateth 
and destroyeth man, is believed ; God, which hath 
made him and loves him, is always deferred : 
" I have considered/' saith Solomon, " all the 
works that are under the sun, and, behold, all is 
vanity and vexation of spirit ; " but who believes 
it, till Death tells it us? It was Death, which 
opening the conscience of Charles the Fifth, made 
him enjoin his son Philip to restore Navarre; 
and King Francis the First of France, to com- 
mand that justice should be done upon the mur- 
derers of the protestants in Merindol and 



1 6 SIR WALTER RALEIGH 

Cabrieres, which till then he neglected. It is 
therefore Death alone that can suddenly make 
man to know himself. He tells the proud and in- 
solent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them 
at the instant, makes them cry, complain and re- 
pent, yea, even to hate their forepast happiness. 
He takes the account of the rich, and proves him 
a beggar, a naked beggar, which hath interest in 
nothing but in the gravel that fills his mouth. 
He holds a glass before the eyes of the most 
beautiful, and makes them see therein their de- 
formity and rottenness, and they acknowledge 
it. 

O eloquent, just and mighty Death ! whom none 
could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none 
hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the 
world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of 
the world and despised ; thou hast drawn together 
all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, 
cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all 
over with these two narrow words, Hie jacet! 

The History of the World (1614), Bk. v., Ch. vi., Sect, xii 



SIR THOMAS OVERBURY 

8. A Fair and Happy Milkmaid 

Is a country wench, that is so far from making 
herself beautiful by art, that one look of hers is 
able to put all face-physic out of countenance. 
She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to 
commend virtue, therefore minds it not. All her 
excellencies stand in her so silently, as if they 
had stolen upon her without her knowledge. 
The lining of her apparel (which is herself) is 
far better than outsides of tissue : for though she 
be not arrayed in the spoil of the silkworm, she 
is decked in innocence, a far better wearing. 
She doth not, with lying long abed, spoil both 
her complexion and conditions ; nature hath 
taught her, too immoderate sleep is rust to the 
soul; she rises therefore with chanticleer, her 
dame's cock, and at night makes the lamb her 
curfew. In milking a cow, and straining the 
teats through her fingers, it seems that so sweet 
a milk-press makes the milk whiter or sweeter; 
for never came almond glove or aromatic oint- 
ment on her palm to taint it. The golden ears of 

17 



18 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY 

corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, 
as if they wished to be bound and led prisoners 
by the same hand that felled them. Her breath 
is her own, which scents all the year long of 
June, like a new made haycock. She makes her 
hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with 
pity: and when winter evenings fall early (sit- 
ting at her merry wheel) she sings a defiance 
to the giddy wheel of fortune. She doth all 
things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance 
will not suffer her to do ill, being her mind is to 
do well. She bestows her year's wages at next 
fair; and in choosing her garments, counts no 
bravery in the world like decency. The garden 
and beehive are all her physic and surgery, and 
she lives the longer for it. She dares go alone, 
and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no 
manner of ill, because she means none : yet to say 
truth, she is never alone, for she is still accom- 
panied with old songs, honest thoughts, and 
prayers, but short ones: yet they have their effi- 
cacy, in that they are not palled with ensuing idle 
cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste, 
that she dare tell them; only a Friday's dream 
is all her superstition; that she conceals for 



SIR THOMAS OVERBURY 19 

fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care 
is she may die in the spring-time, to have store 
of flowers stuck upon her winding-sheet. 

Characters [c. 161 5) 



ROBERT BURTON 

9. Concerning the Law 

Our forefathers, as a worthy chorographer of 
ours observes, had wont pauculis cruculis aureis, 
with a few golden crosses, and lines in verse, to 
make all conveyances, assurances. And such was 
the candour and integrity of succeeding ages, that 
a deed (as I have oft seen), to convey a whole 
manor, was implicite contained in some twenty 
lines or thereabouts : but now many skins of 
parchment will scarce serve turn; he that buys 
and sells a house, must have a house full of 
writings, there be so many circumstances, so 
many words, such tautological repetitions of all 
particulars (to avoid cavillation, they say), but 
we find, by our woful experience, that to subtle 
wits it is a cause of much more contention and 
variance, and scarce any conveyance so accurately 



20 ROBERT BURTON 

penned by one, which another will not find 
a crack in, or cavil at; if any one word be mis- 
placed, any little error, all is disannulled. That 
which is law to-day is none to-morrow, that 
which is sound in one man's opinion, is most 
faulty to another ; that, in conclusion, here is 
nothing amongst us but contention and confu- 
sion, new stirs every day, mistakes, errors, cavils, 
and at this present, as I have heard, in some one 
court, I know not how many thousand causes ; 
no person free, no title almost good, with such 
bitterness in following, so many slights, procras- 
tinations, delays, forgery, such cost, violence and 
malice, I know not by whose fault, lawyers, 
clients, laws, both or all : but as Paul reprehended 
the Corinthians long since, I may" more appositely 
infer now : " There is a fault amongst you, and I 
speak it to your shame ; is there' not a wise man 
amongst you, to judge between his brethren; but 
that a brother goes to law with a brother ? " 

The Anatomy of Melancholy (ist Edit., 1621) 



LORD BACON 

10. Of Studies 

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and 
for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in 
privateness and retiring ; for ornament, is in dis- 
course; and for ability, is in the judgment and 
'disposition of business. For expert men can 
execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one 
by one; but the general counsels, and the plots 
and marshalling of affairs, come best from those 
that are learned. To spend too much time in 
studies is sloth ; to use them too much for orna- 
ment, is affectation; to make judgment wholly 
by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. 
They perfect nature, and are perfected by ex- 
perience : for natural abilities are like natural 
plants, that need pruning by study; and studies 
themselves do give forth directions too much at 
large, except they be bounded in by experience. 
Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire 
them, and wise men use them ; for they teach not 
their own use ; but that is a wisdom without 
them, and above them, won by observation. Read 



22 



LORD BACON 



not to contradict and confute ; nor to believe and 
take for granted ; nor to find talk and discourse ; 
but to weigh and consider. Some books are to 
be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few 
to be chewed and digested; that is, some books 
are to be read only in parts ; others to be read, 
but not curiously ; and some few to be read 
wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some 
books may also be read by deputy, and extracts 
made of them by others ; but that would be only in 
the less important arguments, and the meaner sort 
of books ; else distilled books are like common 
distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh 
a full man ; conference a ready man ; and writing 
an exact man. And therefore, if a man write 
little, he had need have a great memory ; if he 
confer little, he had need have a present wit: 
and if he read little, he had need have much cun- 
ning, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories 
make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics 
subtle ; natural philosophy deep ; moral grave ; 
logic and rhetoric able to contend. 
Abeunt studia in mores. 

Essays or Counsels •, Civil and Moral (3rd Edit., 1625), 1 



BEN JONSON 

II. Memoria 

Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is 
the most delicate, and frail : it is the first of our 
faculties that age invades. Seneca, the father, 
the rhetorician, confesseth of himself, he had a 
miraculous one ; not only to receive, but to hold. 
I myself could, in my youth, have repeated all 
that ever I had made, and so continued till I 
was past forty : since, it is much decayed in me. 
Yet I can repeat whole books that I have read, 
and poems of some selected friends, which I 
have liked to charge my memory with. It was 
wont to be faithful to me, but shaken with age 
now, and sloth, which weakens the strongest 
abilities, it may perform somewhat, but cannot 
promise much. By exercise it is to be made 
better, and serviceable. Whatsoever I pawned 
with it while I was young and a boy, it offers me 
readily, and without stops : but what I trust to it 
now, or have done of later years, it lays up more 
negligently, and oftentimes loses; so that I re- 
ceive mine own (though frequently called for) 

23 



24 BEN JONSON 

as if it were new and borrowed. Nor do I 
always find presently from it what I do seek; 
but while I am doing another thing, that I 
laboured for will come : and what I sought with 
trouble, will offer itself when I am quiet. Now 
in some men I have found it as happy as nature, 
who, whatsoever they read or pen, they can say 
without book presently ; as if they did then write 
in their mind. And it is more a wonder in such 
as have a swift style, for their memories are 
commonly slowest; such as torture their writ- 
ings, and go into council for every word, must 
needs fix somewhat, and make it their own at 
last, though but through their own vexation. 

Timber of Discoveries (1641), Ixii 

SIR THOMAS BROWNE 
12. The Nobility of Man 

• 

Now for my life, it is a miracle of thirty years, 
which to relate, were not a history, but a piece 
of poetry, and would sound to common ears like 
a fable. For the world, I count it not an inn, but 
an hospital ; and a place not to live, but to die in. 
The world that I regard is myself ; it is the micro- 



SIR THOMAS BROWNE 2 $ 

cosm of mine own frame that I cast mine eye 
on : for the other, I use it but like my globe, and 
turn it round sometimes for my recreation. Men 
that look upon my outside, perusing only my 
condition and fortunes, do err in my altitude; 
for I am above Atlas's shoulders. The earth is 
a point not only in respect of the heavens above 
us, but of that heavenly and celestial part within 
us. That mass of flesh that circumscribes me 
limits not my mind. That surface that tells the 
heavens it hath an end cannot persuade me I 
have any. I take my circle to be above three hun- 
dred and sixty. Though the number of the ark 
do measure my body, it comprehendeth not my 
mind. Whilst I study to find how I am a micro- 
cosm, or little world, I find myself something more 
than the great. There is surely a piece of divinity 
in us; something that was before the elements, 
and owes no homage unto the sun. Nature tells 
me, I am the image of God, as well as Scripture. 
He that understands not thus much hath not his 
introduction or first lesson, and is yet to begin 
the alphabet of man. 

Religio Medici (1643) 



LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 

13. "An Host's Daughter" 

In this journey I remember I went over Mount 
Gabelet by night, being carried down that preci- 
pice in a chair, a guide that went before bring- 
ing a bottle of straw with him, and kindling pieces 
of it from time to time, that we might see our 
way. Being at the bottom of a hill, I got on 
horseback and rid to Bourgoin, resolving to rest 
there awhile ; and the rather, to speak truly, that 
I had heard divers say, and particularly Sir 
John Finet and Sir Richard Newport, that the 
host's daughter there was the .handsomest wo- 
man that ever they saw in their lives. Coming 
to the inn, the Count Scarnafissi wished me 
to rest two or three hours, and he would go be- 
fore to Lyons to prepare business for my jour- 
ney to Languedoc. The host's daughter being 
not within, I told her father and mother that I 
desired only to see their daughter, as having 
heard her spoken of in England with so much 
advantage, that divers told me they thought her 
the handsomest creature that ever they saw. 

26 



LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 27 

They answered she was gone to a marriage, 
and should be presently sent for, wishing me 
in the meanwhile to take some rest upon a bed, 
for they saw I needed it. Waking now about 
two hours afterwards, I found her sitting by me, 
attending when I would open mine eyes. I shall 
touch a little of her description : her hair being of 
a shining black, was naturally curled in that order 
that a curious woman would have dressed it, for 
one curl rising by degrees above another, and 
eve % ry bout tied with a small ribbon of a nacarine, 
or the colour that the Knights of the Bath wear, 
gave a very graceful mixture, while it was 
bound up in this manner from the point of her 
shoulder to the crown of her head; her eyes, 
which were round and black, seemed to be 
models of her whole beauty, and in some sort 
of her air, while a kind of light or flame came 
from them not unlike that which the ribbon 
which tied up her hair exhibited; I do not re- 
member ever to have seen a prettier mouth, or 
whiter teeth; briefly, all her outward parts 
seemed to become each other, neither was there 
anything that could be misliked, unless one 
should say her complexion was too brown, 



28 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 

which yet from the shadow was heightened with 
a good blood in her cheeks. Her gown was a 
green Turkey grogram, cut all into panes or 
slashes, from the shoulder and sleeves unto the 
foot, and tied up at the distance of about a 
hand's-breadth everywhere with the same ribbon 
with which her hair was bound; so that her 
attire seemed as bizarre as her person. I am too 
long in describing an host's daughter ; howbeit I 
thought I might better speak of her than of 
divers other beauties, held to be the best and 
fairest of the time, whom I have often seen. In 
conclusion, after about an hour's stay, I departed 
thence, without offering so much as the least in- 
civility; and indeed, after so much weariness, it 
was enough that her sight alone did somewhat re- 
fresh me. 

The Life of Edward^ Lord Herbert of Cher bury [c. 1643) 

JOHN MILTON 

14. Of Grandmotherly Legislation 

If we think to regulate printing, thereby to 
rectify manners, we must regulate all recreations 
and pastimes, all that is delightful to man. No 



JOHN MILTON 29 

music must be heard, no songs be set or sung, 
but what is grave and Doric. There must be 
licensing dancers, that no gesture, motion, or 
deportment be taught our youth but what by 
their allowance shall be thought honest ; for such 
Plato was provided of. It will ask more than the 
work of twenty licenses to examine all the 
lutes, the violins, and the guitars in every house ; 
they must not be suffered to prattle as they do, 
but must be licensed what they may say. And 
who shall silence all the airs and madrigals, that 
whisper softness in chambers? The windows 
also, and the balconies, must be thought on: 
there are shrewd books, with dangerous frontis- 
pieces set to sale ; who shall prohibit them, shall 
twenty licensers? The villages also must have 
their visitors to enquire what lectures the bag- 
pipe and the rebeck reads even to the balladry, 
and the gamut of every municipal fiddler, for 
these are the countryman's Arcadias and his 
Montemayors. Next, what more national cor- 
ruption, for which England hears ill abroad, 
than household gluttony? Who shall be the 
rectors of our daily rioting? and what shall be 
done to inhibit the multitudes that frequent those 



3 o JOHN MILTON 

houses where drunkenness is sold and har- 
boured ? Our garments also should be referred to 
licensing of some more sober work-masters to see 
them cut into a less wanton garb. Who shall 
regulate all the mixed conversation of our youth, 
male and female together, as is the fashion of 
this country; who shall still appoint what shall 
be discoursed, what presumed, and no further? 
Lastly, who shall forbid and separate all idle 
resort, all evil company? These things will be, 
and must be ; but how they shall be less hurtful, 
how less enticing, herein consists the grave and 
governing wisdom of a state. To sequester out 
of the world into Atlantic and Utopian polities, 
which never can be drawn into use, will not mend 
our condition; but to ordain wisely as in this 
world of evil, in the midst whereof God hath 
placed us unavoidably. 

Areopagitica (1644) 

RICHARD BAXTER 

15. Of the Resurrection of the Dead 

The second stream that leadeth to paradise, is 
that great work of Jesus Christ, in raising our 



RICHARD BAXTER 



31 



bodies from the dust, uniting them again unto 
the soul. A wonderful effect of infinite power 
and love. Yea, wonderful indeed, saith unbelief, 
if it be thus. What, saith the atheist and sad- 
ducee, shall all these scattered bones and dust 
become a man? A man drowned in the sea is 
eaten by fishes, and they by men again, and these 
men by worms ; what is become of the body 
of that first man; shall it rise again? Thou 
fool (for so Paul calls thee), dost thou dis- 
pute against the power of the Almighty: wilt 
thou pose him with this sophistry : dost thou 
object difficulties to the infinite strength? Thou 
blind mole ; thou silly worm ; thou little piece of 
creeping, breathing clay; thou dust; thou noth- 
ing: knowest thou who it is, whose power thou 
dost question? If thou shouldst see him, thou 
wouldst presently die. If he should come and 
dispute his cause with thee, couldst thou bear 
it: or if thou shouldst hear his voice, couldst 
thou endure? But come thy way, let me take 
thee by the hand, and do thou a little follow 
me; and let me, with reverence, as Elihu, plead 
for God; and for that power whereby I hope to 
arise. Seest thou this great, massy body of the 



32 RICHARD BAXTER 

earth: what beareth it, and upon what founda- 
tion doth it stand ? Seest thou this vast ocean of 
waters : what limits them, and why do they not 
overflow and drown the earth : whence is that 
constant ebbing and flowing of her tides : wilt 
thou say from the moon, or other planets: and 
whence have they that power of effective in- 
fluence ; must thou not come to a cause of causes, 
that can do all things? And doth not reason 
require thee, to conceive of that cause as a per- 
fect intelligence, and voluntary agent, and not 
such a blind worker and empty notion as that 
nothing is, which thou callest nature? Look 
upward; seest thou that glorious body of light, 
the sun : how many times bigger it is than all the 
earth ; and yet how many thousand miles doth it 
run in one minute of an hour, and that without 
weariness, or failing a moment? What thinkest 
thou ; is not that power able to effect thy resur- 
rection, which doth all this : dost thou not see as 
great works as a resurrection every day before 
thine eyes, but that the commonness makes thee 
not admire them ? 

The Saint's Everlasting Rest (1650), Pt. i., Ch. v., Sect, ii 



THOMAS HOBBES 

16. Grounds of Belief 

From whence we may infer that, when we 
believe any saying whatsoever it be to be true, 
from arguments taken not from the thing it- 
self, or from the principles of natural reason, 
but from the authority and good opinion we have 
of him that hath said it, then is the speaker, or 
person we believe in or trust in, and whose word 
we take, the object of our faith, and the honour 
done in believing is done to him only. And con- 
sequently when we believe that the Scriptures 
are the word of God, having no immediate reve- 
lation from God Himself, our belief, faith, and 
trust, is in the Church, whose word we take 
and acquiesce therein. And they that believe 
that which a prophet relates unto them in the 
name of God take the word of the prophet, do 
honour to him, and in him trust and believe, 
touching the truth of what he relateth, whether 
he be a true or a false prophet. And so it is 
also with all other history. For if I should not 
believe all that is written by historians of the 

33 



34 



THOMAS HOBBES 



glorious acts of Alexander or Caesar, I do not 
think the ghost of Alexander or Caesar had any 
just cause to be offended, or anybody else but 
the historian. If Livy say the gods made once 
a cow speak, and we believe it not, we distrust 
not God therein, but Livy. So that it is evi- 
dent, that whatsoever we believe, upon no other 
reason than what is drawn from authority of 
men only, and their writings, whether they be 
sent from God or not, is faith in men only. 

Leviathan (1651), Pt. i., Ch. vii 

JEREMY TAYLOR 
17. Of the Married State 

Here is the proper scene of piety and patience, 
of the duty of parents and the charity of rela- 
tives ; here kindness is spread abroad, and love is 
united and made firm as a centre: marriage is 
the nursery of heaven ; the virgin sends prayers 
to God, but she carries but one soul to Him ; 
but the state of marriage fills up the numbers of 
the elect, and hath in it the labour of love, and the 
delicacies of friendship, the blessing of society, 
and the union of hands and hearts ; it hath in it 



JEREMY TAYLOR 35 

less of beauty, but more of safety, than the single 
life ; it hath more care, but less danger ; it is more 
merry, and more sad ; is fuller of sorrows, and 
fuller of joys; it lies under more burdens, but it 
is supported by all the strengths of love and 
charity, and those burdens are delightful. 
Marriage is the mother of the world, and pre- 
serves kingdoms, and fills cities, and churches, 
and heaven itself. Celibate, like the fly in the 
heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweet- 
ness, but sits alone, and is confined and dies in 
singularity; but marriage, like the useful bee, 
builds a house and gathers sweetness from every 
flower, and labours and unites into societies and 
republics, and sends out colonies, and feeds the 
world with delicacies, and obeys their king, and 
keeps order, and exercises many virtues, and 
promotes the interest of mankind, and is that 
state of good things to which God hath designed 
the present constitution of the world. 

The Marriage Ring (1651), Pt. i 



ABRAHAM COWLEY 

18. The Career of Oliver Cromwell 

What can be more extraordinary, than that a 
person of mean birth, no fortune, no eminent 
qualities of body, which have sometimes, or of 
mind, which have often, raised men to the 
highest dignities, should have the courage to 
attempt, and the happiness to succeed in, so im- 
probable a design, as the destruction of one of the 
most ancient, and in all appearance most solidly 
founded monarchies upon earth? That he 
should have the power or boldness to put his 
prince and master to an open and infamous 
death? To banish that numerous and strongly- 
allied family? To do all this under the name 
and wages of a parliament? To trample upon 
them too as he pleased, and spurn them out of 
doors when he grew weary of them? To raise 
up a new and unheard-of monster out of their 
ashes ? To stifle that in the very infancy, and set 
up himself above all things that ever were called 
sovereign in England? To oppress all his ene- 
mies by arms, and all his friends afterwards by 

36 



ABRAHAM COWLEY 



37 



artifice? To serve all parties patiently for a 
while, and to command them victoriously at last? 
To overrun each corner of the three nations, and 
overcome with equal facility, both the riches of 
the south, and the poverty of the north? To be 
feared and courted by all foreign princes, and 
adopted a brother to the gods of the earth? To 
call together parliaments with a word of his pen, 
and scatter them again with the breath of his 
mouth? To be humbly and daily petitioned to, 
that he would please to be hired, at the rate of 
two millions a year, to be the master of those 
who had hired him before to be their servant? 
To have the estates and lives of three kingdoms 
as much at his disposal, as was the little inher- 
itance of his father, and to be as noble and liberal 
in the spending of them? And lastly, for there 
is no end of all the particulars of his glory, to 
bequeath all this with one word to his posterity? 
To die with peace at home, and triumph abroad ? 
To be buried among kings, and with more than 
regal solemnity? And to leave a name behind 
him not to be extinguished, but with the whole 
world, which as it is now too little for his 
praises, so might have been too for his con- 



38 ABRAHAM COWLEY 

quests, if the short line of his human life could 
have been stretched out to the extent of his im- 
mortal designs? 

A Vision, concerning his late pretended Highness, Cromwell 
the Wicked, etc (1661) 

THOMAS FULLER 

19. Mount Edgcumbe 

It was built by Sir Richard Edgcumbe, knight, 
take his character from one who very well knew 
him, " mildness and stoutness, diffidence and 
wisdom, deliberateness of undertakings and 
sufficiency of effecting, made in him a more 
commendable than blazing mixture of virtue." 
In the reign of Queen Mary (about the year 
1555) he gave entertainment at one time, for 
some good space, to the admirals of the English, 
Spanish, and Netherland, and many noblemen 
besides. A passage the more remarkable, be- 
cause I am confident that the admirals of these 
nations never met since (if ever before) ami- 
cably at the same table. Mount Edgcumbe was 
the scene of this hospitality, a house new-built 
and named by the aforesaid knight, a square 



THOMAS FULLER 



39 



structure with a round turret at each end, gar- 
reted on the top. The hall (rising above the 
rest) yieldeth a stately sound as one entereth it, 
the parlor and dining-room afford a large and 
diversified prospect both of sea and land. The 
high situation (cool in summer, yet not cold in 
winter) giveth health, the neighbour river wealth, 
two blockhouses great safety, and the town of 
Plymouth good company, unto it. Nor must I 
forget the fruitful ground about it (pleasure, 
without profit, is but a flower without a root), 
stored with wood, timber, fruit, deer, and conies, 
a sufficiency of pasture, arable and meadow, 
with stone, lime, marl, and what not. 

I write not this to tempt the reader to the 
breach of the tenth commandment, " to covet 
his neighbour's house," and one line in the pre- 
vention thereof. I have been credibly informed 
that the Duke of Medina Sidonia, admiral of the 
Spanish fleet in the '88, was so affected at the 
sight of this house (though but beholding it at a 
distance from the sea), that he resolved it for 
his own possession in the partage of this king- 
dom (blame him not if choosing best for him- 
self), which they had preconquered in their 



4 THOMAS FULLER 

hopes and expectation. But he had catched a 
great cold, had he had no other clothes to wear 
than those which were to be made of a skin of a 
bear, not yet killed, 

The Worthies of England (c. 1641-1661), Cornwall 

ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON 

20. The Danger of Atheism 

If it prove true, that there is no God, the relig- 
ious man may be as happy in this world as the 
Atheist: nay, the principles of religion and 
virtue do, in their own nature, tend to make 
him happier; because they give satisfaction to 
his mind, and his conscience by this means is 
freed from many fearful girds and twinges 
which the Atheist feels. Besides, that the prac- 
tice of religion and virtue doth naturally pro- 
mote our temporal felicity. It is more for a 
man's health, and more for his reputation, and 
more for his advantage in all other worldly re- 
spects to lead a virtuous, than a vicious course 
of life: and for the other world, if there be no 
God, the case of the religious man and the 
Atheist will be alike; because they will both be 



ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON 41 

extinguished by death, and insensible of any- 
farther happiness or misery. 

But then, if the contrary opinion should prove 
true, that there is a God, and that the souls of 
men are transmitted out of this world into the 
other, there to receive the just reward of their 
actions ; then it is plain to every man, at first 
sight, that the case of the religious man and the 
Atheist must be vastly different: then, where 
shall the wicked and the ungodly appear? and 
what think we shall be the portion of those who 
have affronted God, and derided his word, and 
made a mock of every thing that is sacred and 
religious ? what can they expect, but to be rejected 
by him whom they have renounced, and to feel 
the terrible effects of that power and justice 
which they have despised? So that, though the 
arguments on both sides were equal, yet the 
danger is not so. On the one side there is none 
at all, but it is infinite on the other. And con- 
sequently, it must be a monstrous folly for any 
man to make a mock of those things which he 
knows not whether they be or not; and if they 
be, of all things in the world they are no jesting 
matters. 

Sermons (c. 1664) 



JOHN DRYDEN 

21. Shakespeare in an Undiscerning Age 

He was the man who, of all modern, and per- 
haps ancient, poets, had the largest and most 
comprehensive soul. All the images of Nature 
were still present to him, and he drew them not 
laboriously, but luckily; when he describes any- 
thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. 
Those who accuse him to have wanted learning 
give him the greater commendation : he was nat- 
urally learned, he needed not the spectacles of 
books to read Nature, he looked inwards and 
found her there. I cannot say he is everywhere 
alike; were he so, I should do him injury to 
compare him with the greatest 'of mankind. 
He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit 
degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling 
into bombast. But he is always great, when 
some great occasion is presented to him; no 
man can say he ever had a fit subject for his wit, 
and did not then raise himself as high above the 
rest of poets. 

Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi. 
42 



JOHN DRYDEN 43 

The consideration of this made Mr. Hales of 
Eton say, that there was no subject of which 
any poet ever writ, but he would produce it 
much better treated of in Shakespeare ; and how- 
ever others are now generally preferred before 
him, yet the age wherein he lived, which had con- 
temporaries with him Fletcher and Jonson, never 
equalled them to him in their esteem ; and in 
the last king's court, when Ben's reputation 
was at highest, Sir John Suckling, and with him 
the greater part of the courtiers, set our Shake- 
speare far above him. 

An Essay of Dramatic Poesy (1668) 

ISAAC WALTON 

22. The Marriage of Richard Hooker 

But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove 
of so bad consequence, as the kindness of 
Mrs. Churchman's curing him of his late dis- 
temper and cold; for that was so gratefully ap- 
prehended by Mr. Hooker, that he thought him- 
self bound in conscience to believe all that she 
said : so that the good man came to be persuaded 



44 ISAAC WALTON 

by her, " that he was a man of a tender constitu- 
tion ; and that it was best for him to have a wife, 
that might prove a nurse to him ; such an one as 
might both prolong his life, and make it more 
comfortable ; and such a one she could and would 
provide for him, if he thought fit to marry." 
And he, not considering that " the children of 
this world are wiser in their generation than the 
children of light ; " but like a true Nathanael, 
fearing no guile, because he meant none, did give 
her such a power as Eleazer was trusted with, 
when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac : for 
even so he trusted her to choose for him, promis- 
ing upon a fair summons to return to London, 
and accept of her choice ; and he did so in that, or 
the year following. Now, the wife provided for 
him was her daughter Joan, who brought him 
neither beauty nor portion; and for her condi- 
tions, they were too like that wife's, which is by 
Solomon compared to a dripping house: so that 
he had no reason to " rejoice in the wife of his 
youth; " but too just cause to say with the holy 
Prophet, " Woe is me, that I am constrained to 
have my habitation in the tents of Kedar ! " 
This choice of Mr. Hooker's — if it were his 



ISAAC WALTON 45 

choice — may be wondered at: but let us con- 
sider that the Prophet Ezekiel says, " There is 
a wheel within a wheel ; " a secret sacred wheel 
of Providence, — especially in marriages, — guided 
by His hand, that " allows not the race to the 
swift," nor " bread to the wise," nor good wives 
to good men : and He that can bring good out of 
evil — for mortals are blind to this reason — only 
knows why this blessing was denied to patient 
Job, to meek Moses, and to our as meek and 
patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was ; and let the 
reader cease to wonder, for " affliction is a divine 
diet ; " which though it be not pleasing to man- 
kind, yet Almighty God hath often, very often, 
imposed it as good, though bitter physic to those 
children, whose souls are dearest to him. 

And by this means the good man was drawn 
from the tranquillity of his College; from that 
garden of piety, of pleasure, of peace, and a 
sweet conversation, into the thorny wilderness of 
a busy world; into those corroding cares that 
attend a married priest, and a country parson- 
age; which was Drayton-Beauchamp in Buck- 
inghamshire, not far from Aylesbury, and in the 
Diocese of Lincoln; to which he was presented 



46 ISAAC WALTON 

by John Cheney, Esq. — then patron of it — the 9th 
of December, 1584, where he behaved himself so 
as to give no occasion of evil, but as St. Paul 
adviseth a minister of God — " in much patience, 
in afflictions, in anguishes, in necessities, in pov- 
erty, and no doubt in long-suffering ; " yet 
troubling no man with his discontents and 
wants. 

And in this condition he continued about a 
year; in which time his two pupils, Edwin 
Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey to 
see their tutor; where they found him with a 
book in his hand, — it was the Odes of Horace, — 
he being then like a humble and innocent Abel, 
tending his small allotment of sheep in a com- 
mon field ; which he told his pupils he was forced 
to do then, for that his servant was gone home 
to dine, and assist his wife to do some necessary 
household business. When his servant returned 
and released him, his two pupils attended him 
unto his house, where their best entertainment 
was his quiet company, which was presently 
denied them ; for " Richard was called to rock 
the cradle ; " and the rest of their welcome was 
so like this, that they stayed but till next morn- 



ISAAC WALTON 47 

ing, which was time enough to discover and 
pity their tutor's condition ; and having in that 
time remembered, and paraphrased on many of 
the innocent recreations of their younger days, 
and other like diversions, given him as much 
present comfort as they were able, they were 
forced to leave him to the company of his wife 
Joan, and seek themselves a quieter lodging. 
But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer 
said, " Good Tutor, I am sorry your lot is fallen 
in no better ground, as to your parsonage ; and 
more sorry that your wife proves not a more 
comfortable companion, after you have wearied 
yourself in your restless studies." To whom 
the good man replied, " My dear George, if 
Saints have usually a double share in the mis- 
eries of this life, I, that am none, ought not to 
repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed 
for me ; but labour — as indeed I do daily — to sub- 
mit mine to his will, and possess my soul in 
patience and peace. 

The Life of Mr. Richard Hooker (1st Coll. Edit., 1670) 



LORD CLARENDON 

23. Character of the Earl of Arundel 

The earl of Arundel was the next to the 
officers of state who, in his own right and 
quality, preceded the rest of the Council. He 
was a man supercilious and proud, who lived 
always within himself and to himself, convers- 
ing little with any who were in common conver- 
sation ; so that he seemed to live as it were in 
another nation, his house being a place to which 
all men resorted who resorted to no other place ; 
strangers, or such who affected to look like 
strangers and dressed themselves accordingly. 
He resorted sometimes to the Court, because 
there only was a greater man than himself; and 
went thither the seldomer, because there was a 
greater man than himself. He lived toward all 
favourites and great officers without any kind 
of condescension; and rather suffered himself 
to be ill treated by their power and authority 
(for he was always in disgrace, and once or twice 
prisoner in the Tower) than to descend in mak- 
ing any application to them. 

48 



LORD CLARENDON 



49 



And upon these occasions he spent a great 
interval of his time in several journeys into for- 
eign parts, and with his wife and family had 
lived some years in Italy, the humour and manners 
of which nation he seemed most to like and ap- 
prove, and affected to imitate. He had a good 
fortune by descent, and a much greater from his 
wife, who was the sole daughter upon the matter 
(for neither of the two sisters left any issue) 
of the great house of Shrewsbury: but his ex- 
penses were without any measure, and always 
exceeded very much his revenue. He was willing 
to be thought a scholar, and to understand the 
most mysterious parts of antiquity, because he 
made a wonderful and costly purchase of ex- 
cellent statues whilst he was in Italy and Rome 
(some whereof he could never obtain permission 
to remove from Rome, though he had paid for 
them), and had a rare collection of the most curi- 
ous medals; whereas in truth he was only able 
to buy them, never to understand them ; and as 
to all parts of learning he was most illiterate, 
and thought no other part of history con- 
siderable but what related to his own family; in 
which, no doubt, there had been some very mem- 



5 o LORD CLARENDON 

orable persons. It cannot be denied that he had 
in his person, in his aspect and countenance, the 
appearance of a great man, which he preserved 
in his gait and motion. He wore and affected a 
habit very different from that of the time, such 
as men had only beheld in the pictures of the 
most considerable men; all which drew the eyes 
of most, and the reverence of many, towards him, 
as the image and representative of the primi- 
tive nobility and native gravity of the nobles, 
when they had been most venerable. But this 
was only his outside, his nature and true humour 
being so much disposed to levity and vulgar 
delights which indeed were very despicable and 
childish. He was never suspected to love any- 
body, nor to have the least propensity to jus- 
tice, charity, or compassion; so that, though he 
got all he could, and by all the ways he could, 
and spent much more than he got or had, he 
was never known to give any thing, nor in all 
his employments — for he had employments of 
great profit as well as honour, being sent ambas- 
sador extraordinary into Germany for the treaty 
of that general peace, for which he had great 
appointments, and in which he did nothing of the 



LORD CLARENDON 51 

least importance; and, which is more wonderful, 
he was afterwards made general of the army 
raised for Scotland, and received full pay as 
such; and in his own office of Earl Marshal 
more money was drawn from the people by his 
authority and pretence of jurisdiction than had 
ever been extorted by all the officers precedent 
— yet, I say, in all his offices and employments, 
never man used or employed by him ever got 
any fortune under him, nor did ever any man 
acknowledge any obligation to him. He was 
rather thought to be without religion than to 
incline to this or that party of any. He would 
have been a proper instrument for any tyranny, 
if he could have had a man tyrant enough to have 
been advised by him ; and had no other affection 
for the nation or the kingdom than as he had a 
great share in it, in which, like the great levi- 
athan, he might sport himself, from which he 
withdrew himself, as soon as he discerned the 
repose thereof was like to be disturbed, and died 
in Italy, under the same doubtful character of re- 
ligion in which he lived. 
The History of the Rebellion (1646-70), Bk. i., Chs. 118, 119 



ISAAC BARROW 

24. Definition of Facetiousness 

But first, it may be demanded what the thing 
we speak of is, or what this facetiousness doth 
import? To which question I might reply as 
Democritus did to him that asked the definition 
of a man, " It is that which we all see and 
know : " any one better apprehends what it is 
by acquaintance, than I can inform him by de- 
scription. It is indeed a thing so versatile and 
multiform, appearing in so many shapes, so many 
postures, so many garbs, so variously apprehended 
by several eyes and judgments, that it seemeth 
no less hard to settle a clear and certain notion 
thereof, than to make a portrait of Proteus, or to 
define the figure of the fleeting air. Sometimes 
it lieth in pat allusion to a known story, or in 
seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in 
forging an apposite tale: sometimes it playeth 
in words and phrases, taking advantage from the 
ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their 
sound: sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of 
humorous expression: sometimes it lurketh un- 

52 



ISAAC BARROW 



53 



der an odd similitude: sometimes it is lodged in 
a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish 
reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly di- 
verting, or cleverly retorting an objection: some- 
times it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in 
a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling 
metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of con- 
tradictions, or an acute nonsense: sometimes a 
scenical representation of persons or things, a 
counterfeit speech, a mimical look or gesture 
passeth for it: sometimes an affected simplicity, 
sometimes a presumptuous bluntness giveth it 
being: sometimes it riseth from a lucky hitting 
upon what is strange, sometimes from a crafty 
wresting obvious matter to the purpose : often 
it consisteth in one knows not what, and spring- 
eth up one can hardly tell how. Its ways are 
unaccountable and inexplicable, being answerable 
to the numberless rovings of fancy and windings 
of language. It is, in short, a manner of speak- 
ing out of the simple and plain way, (such as 
reason teacheth and proveth things by) which, 
by a pretty surprising uncouthness in conceit or 
expression, doth affect and amuse the fancy, stir- 
ring in it some wonder, and breeding some de- 



54 ISAAC BARROW 

light thereto. It raiseth admiration, as signifying 
a nimble sagacity of apprehension, a special felic- 
ity of invention, a vivacity of spirit, and reach of 
wit more than vulgar : it seeming to argue a 
rare quickness of parts, that one can fetch in re- 
mote conceits applicable ; a notable skill, that he 
can dexterously accommodate them to the pur- 
pose before him; together with a lively brisk- 
ness of humour, not apt to damp those sportful 
flashes of imagination. (Whence in Aristotle 
such persons are termed' EmSigiot, dexterous men; 
and Eurponot, men of facile or versatile manners, 
who can easily turn themselves to all things, or 
turn all things to themselves.) It also procureth 
delight, by gratifying curiosity with its rareness 
or semblance of difficulty; (as monsters, not for 
their beauty, but their rarity; as juggling tricks, 
not for their use, but their abstruseness, are be- 
held with pleasure;) by diverting the mind from 
its road of serious thoughts; by instilling gaiety 
and airiness of spirit ; by provoking to such dis- 
positions of spirit, in way of emulation or com- 
plaisance; and by seasoning matters, otherwise 
distasteful or insipid, with an unusual, and 
thence grateful tang. 

Several Sermons against Evil Sj>eafa'ng(between 1672 ?and 1677) 



JOHN BUNYAN 
25. A Christian Soldier 

I saw also that the Interpreter took him again 
by the hand, and led him into a pleasant place, 
where was built a stately palace, beautiful to be- 
hold ; at the sight of which, Christian was greatly 
delighted ; he saw also upon the top thereof, cer- 
tain persons walk, who were clothed all in gold. 
Then said Christian, may we go in thither ? Then 
the Interpreter took him and led him up towards 
the door of the palace; and behold at the door 
stood a great company of men as desirous to go 
in, but durst not. There also sat a man at a little 
distance from the door, at a table-side, with a 
book and his inkhorn before him, to take the 
name of him that should enter therein : He saw 
also that in the doorway stood many men in 
armour to keep it ; being resolved to do to the man 
that would enter what hurt and mischief they 
could. Now was Christian somewhat in a muse : 
at last, when every man started back for fear of 
the armed men; Christian saw a man of a very 
stout countenance come up to the man that sat 

55 



5 6 JOHN BUNYAN 

there to write; saying, set down my name, Sir; 
the which when he had done, he saw the man 
draw his sword, and put an helmet upon his 
head, and rush toward the door upon the armed 
men, who laid upon him with deadly force; but 
the man, not at all discouraged, fell to cutting and 
hacking most fiercely; so, after he had received 
and given many wounds to those that attempted 
to keep him out, he cut his way through them 
all, and pressed forward into the palace ; at which 
there was a pleasant voice heard from those that 
were within, even of the three that walked upon 
the top of the palace. 

Come in, come in ; 

Eternal glory thou shalt win. 

So he went in, and was clothed with such gar- 
ments as they. Then Christian smiled, and said, 
I think verily I know the meaning of this. 

The Pilgrim's Progress (1677) 



JOHN LOCKE 

26. The Limitations of Human Knowledge 

How short soever their knowledge may come 
of an universal or perfect comprehension of 
whatsoever is, it yet secures their great concern- 
ments, that they have light enough to lead them 
to the knowledge of their Maker, and the dis- 
covery of their own duties. Men may find mat- 
ter sufficient to busy their heads and employ their 
hands with variety, delight, and satisfaction, if 
they will not boldly quarrel with their own con- 
stitution, and throw away the blessings their 
hands are filled with, because they are not big 
enough to grasp everything. We shall not have 
much reason to complain of the narrowness of 
our minds, if we will but employ them about 
what may be of use to us ; for of that they are 
very capable : and it will be an unpardonable, as 
well as childish peevishness, if we undervalue 
the advantages of our knowledge, and neglect 
to improve it to the ends for which it was given 
us, because there are some things that are set 
out of the reach of it. It will be no excuse to 

57 



5 8 JOHN LOCKE 

an idle and untoward servant, who would not 
attend his business by candlelight, to plead that 
he had not broad sunshine. The candle that is 
set up in us, shines bright enough for all our 
purposes. The discoveries we can make with 
this, ought to satisfy us : and we shall then use 
our understandings right, when we entertain all 
objects in that way and proportion that they are 
suited to our faculties, and upon those grounds 
they are capable of being proposed to us ; and 
not peremptorily or intemperately require demon- 
stration, and demand certainty, where probability 
only is to be had, and which is sufficient to gov- 
ern all our concernments. If we will disbe- 
lieve everything, because we cannot certainly 
know all things, we shall do muchwhat as wisely 
as he, who would not use his legs, but sit still 
and perish, because he had no wings to fly. 

Essay concerning Human Understanding (1690), Bk. I., Ch. i 

ROBERT SOUTH 

2J. On Mutations of Fortune 

For who, that should view the small, despi- 
cable beginnings of some things and persons at 



ROBERT SOUTH 59 

first, could imagine or prognosticate those vast 
and stupendous increases of fortune that have 
afterwards followed them? 

Who, that had looked upon Agathocles first 
handling the clay, and making pots under his 
father, and afterwards turning robber, could 
have thought, that from such a condition, he 
should come to be king of Sicily? 

Who, that had seen Masaniello, a poor fisher- 
man, with his red cap and his angle, could have 
reckoned it possible to see such a pitiful thing, 
within a week after, shining in his cloth of gold, 
and with a word or a nod absolutely command- 
ing the whole city of Naples ? 

And who, that had beheld such a bankrupt, 
beggarly fellow as Cromwell, first entering the 
parliament house with a threadbare torn cloak, 
and a greasy hat, (and perhaps neither of them 
paid for,) could have suspected that in the space 
of so few years, he should, by the murder of one 
king, and the banishment of another, ascend the 
throne, be invested in the royal robes, and want 
nothing of the state of a king, but the changing 
of his hat into a crown? 

It is (as it were) the sport of the Almighty, 



60 ROBERT SOUTH 

thus to baffle and confound the sons of men by 
such events, as both cross the methods of their 
actings, and surpass the measure of their ex- 
pectations. For according to both these, men still 
suppose a gradual natural progress of things ; 
as that from great, things and persons should 
grow greater, till at length, by many steps and 
ascents, they come to be at greatest; not con- 
sidering, that when Providence designs strange 
and mighty changes, it gives men wings instead 
of legs ; and instead of climbing leisurely, makes 
them at once fly to the top and height of all 
greatness and power. So that the world about 
them (looking up to those illustrious upstarts) 
scarce knows who or whence they were, nor 
they themselves where they are. 

A Sermon on Proverbs xvi. 33 (1692) 

WILLIAM CONGREVE 

28. Millamant, Mirabell, Mrs. Fainall, 
Witwoud 

Milla. Mirabell, did not you take exceptions 
last night? Oh, ay, and went away. Now I 
think on't I'm angry — no, now I think on't I'm 



WILLIAM CONGREVE 6l 

pleased: — for I believe I gave you some pain. 

Mira. Does that please you ? 

Milla. Infinitely; I love to give pain. 

Mira. You would affect a cruelty which is not 
in your nature ; your true vanity is in the power 
of pleasing. 

Milla. Oh, I ask your pardon for that. One's 
cruelty is one's power, and when one parts with 
one's cruelty one parts with one's power, and 
when one has parted with that, I fancy one's 
old and ugly. 

Mira. Ay, ay; suffer your cruelty to ruin the 
object of your power, to destroy your lover — 
and then how vain, how lost a thing you'll be ! 
Nay, 'tis true ; you are no longer handsome 
when you've lost your lover; your beauty dies 
upon the instant. For beauty is the lover's 
gift : 'tis he bestows your charms : — your glass 
is all a cheat. The ugly and the old, whom the 
looking-glass mortifies, yet after commendation 
can be flattered by it, and discover beauties in 
it : for that reflects our praises rather than your 
face. 

Milla. Oh, the vanity of these men! Fainall, 
d'ye hear him? If they did not commend us, 



62 WILLIAM CONGREVE 

we were not handsome ! Now you must know 
they could not commend one if one was not 
handsome. Beauty the lover's gift! Lord, 
what is a lover, that it can give? Why, one 
makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they 
live as long as one pleases, and they die as soon 
as one pleases ; and then, if one pleases, one 
makes more. 

Wit. Very pretty. Why, you make no more of 
making of lovers, madam, than of making so 
many card-matches. 

Milla. One no more owes one's beauty to a 
lover than one's wit to an echo. They can but 
reflect what we look and say : vain empty 
things if we are silent or unseen, and want a 
being. 

Mira. Yet, to those two vain empty things, you 
owe two the greatest pleasures of your life. 

Milla. How so? 

Mira. To your lover you owe the pleasure of 
hearing yourselves praised, and to an echo the 
pleasure of hearing yourselves talk. 

Wit. But I know a lady that loves talking so 
incessantly, she won't give an echo fair play; 
she has that everlasing rotation of tongue that 



WILLIAM CONGREVE 63 

an echo must wait till she dies before it can 
catch her last words. 
Milla. Oh, fiction; Fainall, let us leave these 
men. 

The Way of the World (1700), Act ii., Sc. v 

SIR RICHARD STEELE 

29. Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., Censor of 

Great Britain 

This person dresses just as she did before I 
writ: as does also the lady to whom I addressed 
the following billet the same day : 

" Madam, 

" Let me beg of you to take off the patches 
at the lower end of your left cheek, and I will 
allow two more under your left eye, which will 
contribute more to the symmetry of your face ; 
except you would please to remove the ten black 
atoms on your ladyship's chin, and wear one 
large patch instead of them. If so, you may 
properly enough retain the three patches above 
mentioned. I am, etc." 

This, I thought, had all the civility and 
reason in the world in it ; but whether my letters 



64 SIR RICHARD STEELE 

are intercepted, or whatever it is, the lady patches 
as she used to do. It is to be observed by all the 
charitable society, as an instruction in their 
epistles, that they tell people of nothing but what 
is in their power to mend. I shall give another 
instance of this way of writing : two sisters .in 
Essex Street are eternally gaping out of the win- 
dow, as if they knew not the value of time, or 
would call in companions. Upon which I writ 
the following line: 
" Dear Creatures, 

" On the receipt of this, shut your casements." 
But I went by yesterday, and found them still 
at the window. What can a man do in this case, 
but go on, and wrap himself up in his own integ- 
rity, with satisfaction only in this melancholy 
truth, that virtue is its own reward, and that if 
no one is the better for his admonitions, yet he is 
himself the more virtuous in that he gave those 
advices. 

The Tatter (1709), No. 67 



JOSEPH ADDISON 
30. Sir Roger de Coverley's Church 

My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, 
has beautified the inside of his church with 
several texts of his own choosing: He has like- 
wise given a handsome pulpit cloth, and railed in 
the communion table at his own expense. He has 
often told me, that at his coming to his estate he 
found the parish very irregular; and that in or- 
der to make them kneel and join in the responses, 
he gave every one of them a hassock and a com- 
mon prayer book : and at the same time employed 
an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the 
country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly 
in the tunes of the psalms ; upon which they 
now very much value themselves, and indeed 
outdo most of the country churches that I have 
ever heard. 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole con- 
gregation, he keeps them in very good order, 
and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides him- 
self ; for if by chance he has been surprised into 
a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out 

65 



66 JOSEPH ADDISON 

of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he 
sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them 
himself, or sends his servant to them. Several 
other of the old knight's particularities break 
out upon these occasions : sometimes he will be 
lengthening out a verse in the singing psalms, 
half a minute after the rest of the congregation 
have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased 
with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces 
Amen three or four times to the same prayer; 
and sometimes stands up when everybody else 
is upon their knees, to count the congregation, 
or see if any of his tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear 
my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling 
out to one John Matthews to mind what he was 
about, and not disturb the congregation. This 
John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being 
an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his 
heels for his diversion. This authority of the 
knight's, though exerted in that odd manner 
which accompanies him in all circumstances of 
life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who 
are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous 
in his behaviour ; besides that the general good 



JOSEPH ADDISON 67 

sense and worthiness of his character makes his 
friends observe these little singularities as foils 
that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. 

As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody pre- 
sumes to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the 
church. The knight walks from his seat in the 
chancel between a double row of his tenants, that 
stand bowing to him on each side; and every 
now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or 
mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not 
see at church ; which is understood as a secret 
reprimand to the person that is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me, that upon a 
catechizing day, when Sir Roger has been pleased 
with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a 
bible to be given him next day for his encourage- 
ment; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch 
of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise 
added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; 
and that he may encourage the young fellows to 
make themselves perfect in the church-service, 
has promised upon the death of the present in- 
cumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according 
to merit. 

The Spectator (1711), No. 112 



LORD BOLINGBROKE 

31. Man Independent of Circumstances 

Believe me, the providence of God has estab- 
lished such an order in the world, that of all 
which belongs to us the least valuable parts can 
alone fall under the will of others. Whatever 
is best is safest ; lies out of the reach of human 
power; can neither be given nor taken away. 
Such is this great and beautiful work of nature, 
the world. Such is the mind of man, which 
contemplates and admires the world whereof it 
makes the noblest part. These are inseparably 
ours, and as long as we remain in one we shall 
enjoy the other. Let us march therefore intrep- 
idly wherever we are led by the course of 
human accidents. Wherever they lead us, on 
what coast soever we are thrown by them, we 
shall not find ourselves absolutely strangers. 
We shall meet with men and women, creatures 
of the same figure, endowed with the same 
faculties, and born under the same laws of 
nature. We shall see the same virtues and vices, 
flowing from the same general principles, but 

68 



LORD BOLINGBROKE 69 

varied in a thousand different and contrary 
modes, according to that infinite variety of laws 
and customs which is established for the same 
universal end, the preservation of society. We 
shall feel the same revolution of seasons, and the 
same sun and moon will guide the course of our 
year. The same azure vault, bespangled with 
stars, will be everywhere spread over our heads. 
There is no part of the world from whence we 
may not admire those planets which roll, like 
ours, in different orbits round the same central 
sun; from whence we may not discover an ob- 
ject still more stupendous, that army of fixed 
stars hung up in the immense space of the uni- 
verse, innumerable suns whose beams enlighten 
and cherish the unknown worlds which roll 
around them: and whilst I am ravished by such 
contemplations as these, whilst my soul is thus 
raised up to heaven, it imports me little what 
may be the ground I tread upon. 

Reflections upon Exile (1716) 



DANIEL DEFOE 
32. A Footprint in the Sand 

It happened one day, about noon, going towards 
my boat, I was exceedingly surprised with the 
print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which 
was very plain to be seen in the sand. I stood 
like one thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an 
apparition: I listened, I looked, round me, but I 
could hear nothing, nor see anything ; I went up 
to a rising ground, to look farther ; I went up the 
shore and down the shore, but it was all one; I 
could see no other impression but that one. I 
went to it again to see if there were any more, 
and to observe if it might not be my fancy; but 
there was no room for that, for there was ex- 
actly the very print of a foot, toes, heel, and every 
part of a foot : how it came thither I knew not, 
nor could in the least imagine ; but, after innu- 
merable fluttering thoughts, like a man perfectly 
confused and out of myself, I came home to my 
mortification, not feeling, as we say, the ground I 
went on, but terrified to the last degree ; looking 
behind me at every two or three steps, mistaking 

70 



DANIEL DEFOE 



71 



every bush and tree, and fancying every stump 
at a distance to be a man. Nor is it possible to 
describe how many various shapes affrighted im- 
agination represented things to me in, how many 
wild ideas were found every moment in my fancy, 
and what strange unaccountable whimsies came 
into my thoughts by the way. 

When I came to my castle (for so I think I 
called it ever after this), I fled into it like one 
pursued ; whether I went over by the ladder, as 
first contrived, or went in at the hole in the rock, 
which I called a door, I cannot remember; no, 
nor could I remember the next morning; for 
never frighted hare fled to cover or fox to earth 
with more terror of mind than I to this retreat. 

I slept none that night : the farther I was from 
the occasion of my fright, the greater my appre- 
hensions were ; which is something contrary to 
the nature of such things, and especially to the 
usual practice of all creatures in fear ; but I was 
so embarrassed with my own frightful ideas of 
the thing, that I formed nothing but dismal im- 
aginations to myself, even though I was now a 
great way off of it. Sometimes I fancied it 
must be the Devil, and reason joined in with me 



j 2 DANIEL DEFOE 

upon this supposition ; for how should any other 
thing in human shape come into the place? 
Where was the vessel that brought them ? What 
marks was there of any other footsteps? And 
how was it possible a man should come there? 
But then to think that Satan should take human 
shape upon him in such a place, where there 
could be no manner of occasion for it, but to 
leave the print of his foot behind him, and that 
even for no purpose too, for he could not be sure 
I should see it, — this was an amusement the 
other way. I considered that the Devil might 
have found out abundance of other ways to have 
terrified me than this of the single print of a foot ; 
that as I lived quite on the other side of the 
island, he would never have been so simple to 
leave a mark in a place where it was ten thou- 
sand to one whether I should ever see it or not, 
and in the sand too, which the first surge of 
the sea, upon a high wind, would have defaced 
entirely : all this seemed inconsistent with the 
thing itself, and with all the notions we usually 
entertain of the subtlety of the Devil. 

Abundance of such things as these assisted to 
argue me out of all apprehensions of its being the 



DANIEL DEFOE 73 

Devil; and I presently concluded, then, that it 
must be some more dangerous creature, viz., that 
it must be some of the savages of the main land 
over against me, who had wandered out to sea in 
their canoes, and, either driven by the currents 
or by contrary winds, had made the island, and 
had been on shore, but were gone away again to 
sea ; being as loth, perhaps, to have stayed in this 
desolate island as I would have been to have had 
them. 

Robinson Crusoe (17 19) 

JONATHAN SWIFT 
33. A Humane King 

To confirm what I have now said, and further, 
to show the miserable effects of a confined educa- 
tion, I shall here insert a passage which will 
hardly obtain belief. In hopes to ingratiate my- 
self farther into his Majesty's favour, I told him 
of an invention discovered between three and 
four hundred years ago, to make a certain pow- 
der, into an heap of which the smallest spark of 
fire falling, would kindle the whole in a moment, 
athough it were as big as a mountain, and make 



74 JONATHAN SWIFT 

it all fly up in the air together, with a noise and 
agitation greater than thunder. That a proper 
quantity of this powder rammed into an hollow 
tube of brass or iron, according to its bigness, 
would drive a ball of iron or lead with such vio- 
lence and speed, as nothing was able to sustain 
its force. That the largest balls thus discharged, 
would not only destroy whole ranks of an army 
at once, but batter the strongest walls to the 
ground, sink down ships, with a thousand men in 
each, to the bottom of the sea ; and, when linked 
together by a chain, would cut through masts 
and rigging, divide hundreds of bodies in the 
middle, and lay all waste before them. That we 
often put this powder into large hollow balls of 
iron, and discharged them by an engine into 
some city we were besieging, which would rip up 
the pavements, tear the houses to pieces, burst 
and throw splinters on every side, dashing out 
the brains of all who came near. That I knew 
the ingredients very well, which were cheap, and 
common ; I understood the manner of compound- 
ing them, and could direct his workmen how to 
make those tubes, of a size proportionable to all 
other things in his Majesty's kingdom, and the 



JONATHAN SWIFT 75 

largest need not be above an hundred foot long ; 
twenty or thirty of which tubes, charged with the 
proper quantity of powder and balls, would bat- 
ter down the walls of the strongest town in his do- 
minions in a few hours, or destroy the whole me- 
tropolis, if ever it should pretend to dispute his 
absolute commands. This I humbly offered to 
his Majesty, as a small tribute of acknowledg- 
ment in return of so many marks that I had re- 
ceived of his royal favour and protection. 

The King was struck with horror at the de- 
scription I had given of those terrible engines, and 
the proposal I had made. He was amazed how 
so impotent and grovelling an insect as I (these 
were his expressions) could entertain such in- 
human ideas, and in so familiar a manner as to 
appear wholly unmoved at all the scenes of blood 
and desolation, which I had painted as the com- 
mon effects of those destructive machines, whereof 
he said, some evil genius, enemy to mankind, 
must have been the first contriver. As for him- 
self, he protested, that although few things de- 
lighted him so much as new discoveries in art or 
in nature, yet he would rather lose half his king- 
dom than be privy to such a secret, which he 



76 JONATHAN SWIFT 

commanded me, as I valued my life, never to 
mention any more. 

A strange effect of narrow principles and 
short views ! that a prince possessed of every 
quality which procures veneration, love, and 
esteem ; of strong parts, great wisdom, and pro- 
found learning, endued with admirable talents 
for government, and almost adored by his sub- 
jects, should from a nice unnecessary scruple, 
whereof in Europe we can have no conception, 
let slip an opportunity put into his hands, that 
would have made him absolute master of the 
lives, the liberties, and the fortunes of his people. 
Neither do I say this with the least intention to 
detract from the many virtues of that excellent 
King, whose character I am sensible will on this 
account be very much lessened in the opinion of 
an English reader : but I take this defect among 
them to have risen from their ignorance, they 
not having hitherto reduced politics into a 
science, as the more acute wits of Europe have 
done. For, I remember very well, in a discourse 
one day with the King, when I happened to say 
there were several thousand books among us 
written upon the art of government, it gave him 



JONATHAN SWIFT jj 

(directly contrary to my intention) a very mean 
opinion of our understandings. He professed 
both to abominate and despise all mystery, re- 
finement, and intrigue, either in a prince or a 
minister. He could not tell what I meant by 
secrets of state, where an enemy or some rival 
nation were not in the case. He confined the 
knowledge of governing within very narrow 
bounds; to common sense and reason, to justice 
and lenity, to the speedy determination of civil 
and criminal causes ; with some other obvious 
topics, which are not worth considering. And 
he gave it for his opinion, that whoever could 
make two ears of corn, or two blades of grass 
to grow upon a spot of ground where only one 
grew before, would deserve better of mankind, 
and do more essential service to his country than 
the whole race of politicians put together. 

Gulliver's Travels (1726). A Voyage to Brobdingnag, vii 

GEORGE BERKELEY 

34. The Lowly Origin of Christ 

Lysicles. If all mankind should pretend to per- 
suade me that the Son of God was born upon 



78 GEORGE BERKELEY 

earth in a poor family, was spit upon, buffeted, 
and crucified, lived like a beggar, and died like a 
thief, I should never believe one syllable of it. 
Common sense shows every one what figure it 
would be decent for an earthly prince or am- 
bassador to make ; and the Son of God, upon an 
embassy from heaven, must needs have made an 
appearance beyond all others of great eclat, and 
in all respects the very reverse of that which Jesus 
Christ is reported to have made, even by His 
own historians. 

Euphranor. O Lysicles ! though I had ever 
so much mind to approve and applaud your in- 
genious reasoning, yet I dare not assent to this 
for fear of Crito. 

Lysicles. Why so? 

Euphranor. Because he observed just now, 
that men judge of things they do not know, by 
prejudices from things they do know. And I 
fear he would object that you, who have been 
conversant in the grand monde, having your head 
filled with a notion of attendants and equipage 
and liveries, the familiar badges of human 
grandeur, are less able to judge of that which 
is truly Divine ; and that one who had seen less, 



GEORGE BERKELEY 79 

and thought more, would be apt to imagine a 
pompous parade of worldly greatness not the 
most becoming the author of a spiritual religion, 
that was designed to wean men from the world, 
and raise them above it. 

Crito. Do you think, Lysicles, if a man should 
make his entrance into London in a rich suit of 
clothes, with a hundred gilt coaches, and a thou- 
sand laced footmen ; that this would be a more 
Divine appearance, and have more of true 
grandeur in it, than if he had power with a word 
to heal all manner of diseases, to raise the dead 
to life, and still the raging of the winds and sea ? 

Lysicles. Without all doubt it must be very 
agreeable to common sense to suppose, that he 
could restore others to life who could not save 
his own. You tell us, indeed, that he rose again 
from the dead: but what occasion was there for 
him to die, the just for the unjust, the Son of 
God for wicked men? And why in that indi- 
vidual place? Why at that very time above all 
others? Why did he not make his appearance 
earlier, and preach in all parts of the world, that 
the benefits might have been more extensive? 
Account for all these points, and reconcile them, 



80 GEORGE BERKELEY 

if you can, to the common notions and plain 
sense of mankind. 

Crito. And what if those, as well as many 
other points, should lie out of the road that we 
are acquainted with; must we therefore ex- 
plode them, and make it a rule to condemn every 
proceeding as senseless that doth not square with 
the vulgar sense of man? If the precepts and 
certain primary tenets of religion appear in the 
eye of reason good and useful; and if they are 
also found to be so by their effects; we may, 
for the sake of them, admit certain other points 
or doctrines recommended with them to have a 
good tendency, to be right and true, although 
we cannot discern their goodness or truth by 
the mere light of human reason, which may well 
be supposed an insufficient judge of the proceed- 
ings, counsels, and designs of Providence — and 
this sufficeth to make our conviction reasonable. 

It is an allowed point that no man can judge 
of this or that part of a machine taken by itself, 
without knowing the whole, the mutual relation 
or dependence of its parts, and the end for which 
it was made. And, as this is a point acknowl- 
edged in corporeal and natural things, ought we 



GEORGE BERKELEY 8 1 

not, by a parity of reason, to suspend our judg- 
ment of a single unaccountable part of the 
Divine economy, till we are more fully ac- 
quainted with the moral system, or world of 
spirits, and are let into the designs of God's 
Providence, and have an extensive view of His 
dispensations past, present, and future? Alas! 
Lysicles, what do you know even of yourself, 
whence you come, what you are, or whither 
you are going ? To me it seems that a minute 
philosopher is like a conceited spectator, who 
never looked behind the scenes, and yet would 
judge of the machinery; who, from a transient 
glimpse of a part only of some one scene, would 
take upon him to censure the plot of a play. 

Alciphron, or the Minute Philosopher (i732),Dial. vii, Sec. 15-16 



ALEXANDER POPE 

35. In Reply to Lord Hervey 

Next, my Lord, as to the obscurity of my 
birth, (a reflection copied also from Mr. Curll 
and his brethren,) I am sorry to be obliged to 
such a presumption as to name my family in the 



82 ALEXANDER POPE 

same leaf with your lordship's: but my father 
had the honour in one instance to resemble you, 
for he was a younger brother. He did not 
indeed think it a happiness to bury his elder 
brother, though he had one who wanted some of 
those good qualities which yours possessed. 
How sincerely glad could I be, to pay to that 
young nobleman's memory the debt I owed to 
his friendship, whose early death deprived your 
family of as much wit and honour as he left be- 
hind him in any branch of it. But as to my 
father, I could assure you, my Lord, that he was 
no mechanic, neither a hatter, nor, which might 
please your Lordship yet better, a cobbler, but, 
in truth, of a very tolerable family ; and my # 
mother of an ancient one, as well born and edu- 
cated as that Lady, whom your Lordship made 
choice of to be the mother of your own children ; 
whose merit, beauty, and vivacity (if transmitted 
to your posterity) will be a better present than 
even the noble blood they derive only from you ; 
a mother, on whom I was never obliged so far 
to reflect, as to say she spoiled me ; and a father, 
who never found himself obliged to say of me 
that he disapproved my conduct. In a word, my 



ALEXANDER POPE 83 

Lord, I think it enough that my parents, such 
as they were, never cost me a blush ; and that 
their son, such as he is, never cost them a tear. 

A Letter to a Noble Lord (1733) 



JOSEPH BUTLER 

36. Possibility of a Future Life 

That there is an intelligent Author of nature, 
and natural Governor of the world, is a prin- 
ciple gone upon in the foregoing Treatise ; as 
proved, and generally known and confessed to 
be proved. 

And the very notion of an intelligent Author 
of nature, proved by particular final causes, im- 
plies a will and a character. Now, as our whole 
nature, the nature which he has given us, leads 
us to conclude his will and character to be moral, 
just, and good : so we can scarce in imagination 
conceive, what it can be otherwise. However, in 
consequence of this his will and character, what- 
ever it be, he formed the universe as it is, and 
carries on the course of it as he does, rather 
than in any other manner; and has assigned to 



84 JOSEPH BUTLER 

us, and to all living creatures, a part and a lot in 
it. Irrational creatures act this their part, and 
enjoy and undergo the pleasures and the pains 
allotted them, without any reflection. But one 
would think it impossible, that creatures endued 
with reason could avoid reflecting sometimes 
upon all this : reflecting, if not from whence we 
came, yet, at least, whither we are going; and 
what the mysterious scheme, in the midst of 
which we find ourselves, will, at length, come 
out and produce : a scheme in which it is certain 
we are highly interested, and in which we may 
be interested even beyond conception. 

For many things prove it palpably absurd to 
conclude, that we shall cease to be, at death. 
Particular analogies do most sensibly show us, 
that there is nothing to be thought strange, in 
our being to exist in another state of life. And 
that we are now living beings, affords a strong 
probability that we shall continue so ; unless 
there be some positive ground, and there is none 
from reason or analogy, to think death will 
destroy us. Were a persuasion of this kind ever 
so well grounded, there would, surely, be little 
reason to take pleasure in it. But indeed it can 



JOSEPH BUTLER 85 

have no other ground, than some such imagina- 
tion, as that of our gross bodies being ourselves ; 
which is contrary to experience. Experience 
too most clearly shows us the folly of conclud- 
ing, from the body and the living agent affecting 
each other mutually, that the dissolution of the 
former is the destruction of :he latter. And 
there are remarkable instances of their not 
affecting each other, which lead us to a contrary 
conclusion. The supposition then, which in all 
reason w r e are to go upon, is, that our living 
nature will continue after death. 

And it is infinitely unreasonable to form an 
institution of life, or to act, upon any other sup- 
position. Now all expectation of immortality, 
whether more or less certain, opens an un- 
bounded prospect to our hopes and our fears : 
since we see the constitution of nature is such, 
as to admit of misery as well as to be productive 
of happiness, and experience ourselves to par- 
take of both in some degree ; and since we can- 
not but know, what higher degrees of both we 
are capable of. And there is no presumption 
against believing further, that our future interest 
depends upon our present behaviour : for we see 



86 JOSEPH BUTLER 

our present interest doth : and that the happiness 
and misery, which are naturally annexed to our 
actions, very frequently do not follow, till long 
after the actions are done, to which they are 
respectively annexed. So that were speculation 
to leave us uncertain, whether it were likely, that 
the Author of nature, in giving happiness and 
misery to his creatures, hath regard to their 
actions or not: yet, since we find by experience 
that he hath such regard, the whole sense of 
things which he has given us, plainly leads us, at 
once and without any elaborate inquiries, to 
think, that it may, indeed must, be to good actions 
chiefly that he hath annexed happiness, and to bad 
actions misery; or that he will, upon the whole, 
reward those who do well, and punish those who 
do evil. 

The Analogy of Religion (1736), Pt. i., Ch. viii 

HENRY FIELDING 

37. Parson Adams questions the Landlord 

" Why, prithee, friend/' cries the host, " dost 
thou pretend never to have told a lie in thy life? " 
— " Never a malicious one, I am certain," an- 



HENRY FIELDING 87 

swered Adams, '* nor with a design to injure the 
reputation of any man living." — " Pugh ! mali- 
cious ; no, no," replied the host, " not malicious 
with a design to hang a man, or bring him into 
trouble; but surely, out of love to oneself, one 
must speak better of a friend than an enemy." — 
" Out of love to yourself, you should confine 
yourself to truth," says Adams, " for by doing 
otherwise you injure the noblest part of yourself, 
your immortal soul. I can hardly believe any man 
such an idiot to risk the loss of that by trifling 
gain, and the greatest gain in this world is but 
dirt in comparison of what shall be revealed 
hereafter." Upon which the host, taking up the 
cup, with a smile, drank a health to hereafter; 
adding, " he was for something present." — 
" Why," says Adams very gravely, " do not you 
believe in another world ? " To which the host 
answered, " Yes ; he was no atheist." — " And you 
believe you have an immortal soul ? " cries 
Adams. He answered, " God forbid he should 
not." — " And heaven and hell? " said the parson. 
The host then bid him " not to profane ; for those 
were things not to be mentioned nor thought of 
but in church." Adams asked him, " why he 



88 HENRY FIELDING 

went to church, if what he learned there had no 
influence on his conduct in life ? " "I go to 
church," answered the host, " to say my prayers 
and behave godly." — " And dost not thou," cried 
Adams, " believe what thou hearest at church ? " 
— " Most part of it, master," returned the host. 
" And dost not thou then tremble," cries Adams, 
" at the thought of eternal punishment ? " — " As 
for that, master," said he, " I never once thought 
about it ; but what signifies talking about matters 
so far off? The mug is out, shall I draw 
another? " 

The Adventures of Joseph Andrews (1742), Bk., ii., Ch. iii 

DAVID HUME 

38. Of the Middle Station of Life 

The moral of the following fable will easily 
discover itself, without my explaining it. One 
rivulet meeting another, with whom he had been 
long united in strictest amity, with noisy haughti- 
ness and disdain thus bespoke him — " What, 
brother ! still in the same state ! Still low and 
creeping! Are you not ashamed, when you be- 



DAVID HUME 



8 9 



hold me, who though lately in a like condition 
with you, am now become a great river, and shall 
shortly be able to rival the Danube or the Rhine, 
provided those friendly rains continue which 
have favoured my banks, but neglected yours ?" 
" Very true," replies the humble rivulet: "You 
are now, indeed, swoln to a great size; but me- 
thinks you are become withal somewhat turbu- 
lent and muddy. I am contented with my low 
condition and my purity." 

Instead of commenting upon this fable, I 
shall take occasion from it to compare the differ- 
ent stations of life, and to persuade such of my 
readers as are placed in the middle station to be 
satisfied with it, as the most eligible of all others. 
These form the most numerous rank of men that 
can be supposed susceptible of philosophy; and 
therefore all discourses of morality ought princi- 
pally to be addressed to them. The great are too 
much immersed in pleasure, and the poor too 
much occupied in providing for the necessities 
of life, to hearken to the calm voice of reason. 
The middle station, as it is most happy in 
many respects, so particularly in this, that a man 
placed in it can, with the greatest leisure, con- 



go DAVID HUME 

sider his own happiness, and reap a new enjoy- 
ment, from comparing his situation with that of 
persons above or below him. 

Agur's prayer is sufficiently noted — " Two 
things have I required of thee ; deny me them not 
before I die ; remove far from me vanity and lies ; 
give me neither poverty nor riches ; feed me with 
food convenient for me, lest I be full and deny 
thee, and say, who is the Lord ? or lest I be poor, 
and steal, and take the name of my God in vain." 
The middle station is here justly recommended, 
as affording the fullest security for virtue ; and 
I may also add, that it gives opportunity for the 
most ample exercise of it, and furnishes employ- 
ment for every good quality which we can 
possibly be possessed of. Those who are placed 
among the lower ranks of men, have little 
opportunity of exerting any other virtue besides 
those of patience, resignation, industry, and in- 
tegrity. Those who are advanced into the 
higher stations, have full employment for their 
generosity, humanity, affability, and charity. 
When a man lies betwixt these two extremes, he 
can exert the former virtues towards his superiors 
and the latter towards his inferiors. Every 



DAVID HUME . gi 

moral quality which the human soul is sus- 
ceptible of, may have its turn, and be called up 
to action; and a man may, after this manner, 
be much more certain of his progress in virtue, 
than where his good qualities lie dormant, and 
without employment. 

Essays, Moral and Political (1742), Vol. ii 

LORD CHESTERFIELD 

39. . Some Characteristics of Vulgarity 

A vulgar, ordinary way of thinking, acting, 
or speaking, implies a low education, and a 
habit of low company. Young people contract 
it at school, or among servants, with whom they 
are too often used to converse; but, after they 
frequent good company, they must want attention 
and observation very much, if they do not lay it 
quite aside. And indeed, if they do not, good 
company will be very apt to lay them aside. The 
various kinds of vulgarisms are infinite ; I cannot 
pretend to point them out to you ; but I will give 
some samples, by which you may guess at the 
rest. 

A vulgar man is captious and jealous; eager 



92 



LORD CHESTERFIELD 



and impetuous about trifles. He suspects him- 
self to be slighted, thinks everything that is said 
meant at him ; if the company happens to laugh, 
he is persuaded they laugh at him; he grows 
angry and testy, says something very impertinent, 
and draws himself into a scrape, by showing 
what he calls a proper spirit, and asserting him- 
self. A man of fashion does not suppose himself 
to be either the sole or principal object of the 
thoughts, looks, or words of the company; and 
never suspects that he is either slighted or 
laughed at, unless he is conscious that he de- 
serves it. And if (which very seldom happens) 
the company is absurd or ill-bred enough to do 
either, he does not care twopence, unless the in- 
sult be so gross and plain as to require satis- 
faction of another kind. As he is above trifles, he 
is never vehement and eager about them; and, 
wherever they are concerned, rather acquiesces 
than wrangles. A vulgar man's conversation 
always savours strongly of the lowmess of his 
education and company. It turns chiefly upon 
his domestic affairs, his servants, the excellent 
order he keeps in his own family, and the little 
anecdotes of the neighbourhood ; all which he re- 



LORD CHESTERFIELD 



93 



lates with emphasis, as interesting matters. He 
is a man gossip. 

Vulgarism in language is the next, and distin- 
guishing characteristic of bad company and a 
bad education. A man of fashion avoids nothing 
with more care than that. Proverbial expressions 
and trite sayings are the flowers of the rhetoric 
of a vulgar man. Would he say that men differ 
in their tastes ; he both supports and adorns that 
opinion, by the good old saying, as he respectfully 
calls it, that what is one man's Meat is another 
man's Poison. If anybody attempts being smart, 
as he calls it, upon him, he gives them Tit for 
Tat, ay, that he does. He has always some 
favourite word for the time being ; which, for the 
sake of using often, he commonly abuses : such as 
vastly angry, vastly kind, vastly handsome, and 
vastly ugly. Even his pronunciation of proper 
words carries the mark of the beast along with it. 
He calls the earth, y earth; he is obleiged, not 
obliged, to you. He goes to zi'ards, and not 
tozcards, such a place. He sometimes affects 
hard words by way of ornament, which he al- 
ways mangles, like a learned woman. A man of 
fashion never has recourse to proverbs and 



94 LORD CHESTERFIELD 

vulgar aphorisms ; uses neither favourite words 
nor hard words; but takes great care to speak 
very correctly and grammatically, and to pro- 
nounce properly ; that is, according to the usage 
of the best companies. 

Letters to his Son (1749), ex 

HORACE WALPOLE (LORD ORFORD) 

40. The Beautiful Miss Gunnings 

Our beauties are returned, and have done no 
execution. The French would not conceive that 
Lady Caroline Petersham ever had been hand- 
some, nor that my Lady Coventry has much pre- 
tence to be so now. Indeed all the traveled 
English allow that there is a Madame de Brionne 
handsomer, and a finer figure. Poor Lady 
Coventry was under piteous disadvantages ; for 
besides being very silly, ignorant of the world, 
. . . speaking no French, and suffered to wear 
neither red nor powder, she had that perpetual 
drawback upon her beauty, her lord, who is sillier 
in a wise way, as ignorant, ill-bred, and speaking 
very little French himself — just enough to show 



HORACE WALPOLE (LORD ORFORD) 95 

how ill-bred he is. The Duke de Luxemburg 
told him he had called up my Lady Coventry's 
coach ; my Lord replied, " Vous avez fort bien 
fait." He is jealous, prude, and scrupulous; 
at a dinner at Sir John Bland's, before sixteen 
persons, he coursed his wife round the table, on 
suspecting she had stolen on a little red, seized 
her, scrubbed it off by force with a napkin, and 
then told her, that since she had deceived him and 
broke her promise, he would carry her back 
directly to England. They were pressed to stay 
for the great fete at St. Cloud ; he excused him- 
self, " because it would make him miss a music- 
meeting at Worcester ; " and she excused herself 
from the fireworks at Madame Pompadour's, 
" because it was her dancing-master's hour." I 
will tell you but one more anecdote, and I think 
you cannot be imperfect in your ideas of them. 
The Marechale de Lowendahl was pleased with 
an English fan Lady Coventry had, who very 
civilly gave it to her: my Lord made her write 
for it again next morning, " because he had given 
it her before marriage, and her parting with it 
would make an irreparable breach," and send an 
old one in the room of it! She complains to 



96 HORACE WALPOLE (LORD ORFORD) 

everybody she meets, " How odd it is that my 
Lord should use her so ill, when she knows he 
has so great a regard that he would die for her, 
and when he was so good as to marry her without 
a shilling ! " Her sister's history is not unenter- 
taining : Duke Hamilton is the abstract of Scotch 
pride ; he and the Duchess at their own house 
walk in to dinner before their company, sit to- 
gether at the upper end of their own table, eat off 
the same plate, and drink to nobody beneath the 
rank of Earl — would not one wonder how they 
could get anybody either above or below that 
rank to dine with them at all? I don't know 
whether you will not think all these very trifling 
histories ; but for myself, I love anything that 
marks a character strongly. 

Letters of Horace Walpole (1752) 



LADY MARY WORTLEY-MONTAGU 

41. An Italian Doctor 

I drank the water next morning, and, with a 
few doses of my physician's prescription, in three 
days found myself in perfect health, which ap- 



LADY MARY WORTLEY-MONTAGU 



97 



peared almost a miracle to all that saw me. You 
may imagine I am willing to submit to the orders 
of one that I must acknowledge the instrument 
of saving my life, though they are not entirely 
conformable to my will and pleasure. He has 
sentenced me to a long continuance here, which, 
he says, is absolutely necessary to the confir- 
mation of my health, and would persuade me that 
my illness has been wholly owing to my omission 
of drinking the waters these two years past. I 
dare not contradict him, and must own he de- 
serves (from the various surprising cures I have 
seen) the name given to him in this country of 
the miraculous man. Both his character and 
practice are so singular, I cannot forbear giving 
you some account of them. He will not permit 
his patients to have either surgeon or apothecary : 
he performs all the operations of the first with 
great dexterity; and whatever compounds he 
gives, he makes in his own house : those are very 
few; the juice of herbs, and these waters, being 
commonly his sole prescriptions. He has very 
little learning, and professes drawing all his 
knowledge from experience, which he possesses, 
perhaps, in a greater degree than any other mor- 



9 8 LADY MARY WORTLEY-MONTAGU 

tal, being the seventh doctor of his family in a 
direct line. His forefathers have all of them 
left journals and registers solely for the use of 
their posterity, none of them having published 
anything; and he has recourse to these manu- 
scripts on every difficult case, the veracity of 
which, at least, is unquestionable. His vivacity 
is prodigious, and he is indefatigable in his in- 
dustry : but what most distinguishes him is a dis- 
interestedness I never saw in any other : he is as 
regular in his attendance on the poorest peasant, 
from whom he never can receive one farthing, 
as on the richest of the nobility; and, whenever 
he is wanted, will climb three or four miles in the 
mountains, in the hottest sun, or heaviest rain, 
where a horse cannot go, to arrive at a cottage, 
where, if their condition requires it, he does not 
only give them advice and medicines gratis, but 
bread, wine, and whatever is needful. There 
never passes a week without one or more of these 
expeditions. His last visit is generally to me. 
I often see him as dirty and tired as a foot post, 
having eat nothing all day but a roll or two that 
he carries in his pocket, yet blest with such a 
perpetual flow of spirits, he is always gay to a 



LADY MARY WORTLEY-MONTAGU 99 

degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiar- 
ity in his character that I hope will incline you 
to forgive my drawing it. 

Letters (1754) 



SAMUEL RICHARDSON 

42. Miss Grandison, Harriet Byron, Lady L. 

Miss Gr. And now tell me, Harriet, what can be 
your motive for refusing such a man as this? 

Harriet. I wish, my dear, you would not talk 
to me of these men. I am sick of them all — Sir 
Hargrave has cured me — 

Miss Gr. You fib, my dear — But did you ever 
see Lord D. ? 

Harriet. No, indeed! 

Miss Gr. " No, indeed ! " — Why then you are 
a simpleton, child. What, refuse a man, an Earl 
too ! in the bloom of his years, 12,000 good 
pounds a year! yet never have seen him — Your 
motives, child ! Your motives ! — I wish you are 
not already — There she stopt. 

Harriet. And I wish, Miss Grandison, with 
all my heart, if that would tame you, that you 



IOO SAMUEL RICHARDSON 

were in love over head and ears, and could not 
help it! 

Miss Gr. And wish you me that for spite, or 
to please me ? — I am in love, my dear ; and 
nothing keeps me in countenance, but having 
company among the grave ones. Dearly do I 
love to find girls out. Why, I found out Lady L. 
before she would own a tittle of the matter. So 
prim ! — " And how can you think so, Charlotte ? 
Who, I, in love! No indeed! No man has a 
place in my heart ! " — Then I was resolved to 
have her secret out. I began with my round- 
abouts, and my suppose' s — A leer — as thus — 
[I was both vexed and pleased with her archness] 
and then a suppose — Then came a blush — 
" Why, Charlotte, I cannot but say, that if I were 
obliged to have ' the one man or the other ' ' 
— Then came a sigh, endeavoured in haste to be 
returned to the heart whence it came ; and when it 
could not find its way back, to be cut into three- 
halves, as the Irishman said ; that is, into two 
half-sighs, and a hem ; and a " Get you gone, for 
an impertinent." — As much as to say, " You 
have it ! " — And when I found I had and she 
owned it; why then I put my mad head to her 



SAMUEL RICHARDSON IOI 

grave one; and we had but one heart betwixt 
us. 

Lady L. (Laughing) — Out of breath, Char- 
lotte, I hope. 

Miss Gr. Not yet — How often have I kept 
watch and ward for her ! Sometimes have I lent 
her my dressing-room for their love meetings: 
Yet, for the world, she would not marry without 
her papa's consent : No, but like the rest of us, 
she would suffer her affections to be engaged, 
without letting him know a syllable of the matter. 
— Very true, Lady L., what signifies looking 
serious? 

Lady L. Strange creature! 

Miss Gr. Once or twice did I change dresses 
with her. In short, I was a perfect Abigail to 
her in the affair: And, let me tell you, two Sis- 
ters, agreed to manage a love-affair, have advan- 
tages over even a Lady and her woman. 

Lady L. Mad creature ! 

Miss Gr. All this I did for her without fee or 
reward ; only from the dear delight of promoting 
the good work, and upon the Christian principle 
of do as you would be done by. — Is not all this 
true, Lady L. ? Deny it if you can. 



102 SAMUEL RICHARDSON 

Lady L. And have you done, Charlotte ? Ah ! 
my dear Miss Byron, you'll never do anything 
with this girl, except you hear all she has to say. 
And if you have a secret, 'tis better to let her 
know it at first. Charlotte is a generous girl 
after all ; but sometimes, as now, a very imperti- 
nent one — 

History of Sir Charles Grandison (1754), Vol. 2, Let. 5 



THOMAS GRAY 

43. Froissart's " Chronicles " 

I am much obliged to you for your antique news : 
Froissard is a favourite book of mine (though I 
have not attentively read him, but only dipp'd 
here and there) and it is strange to me that 
people who would give thousands for a dozen 
Portraits (originals of that time) to furnish a 
Gallery, should never cast an eye on so many 
moving Pictures of the life, actions, manners, and 
thoughts of their ancestors done on the spot, and 
in strong though simple colours. In the succeed- 
ing century Froissard (I find) was read with 
great satisfaction by everybody, that could read; 



THOMAS GRAY 103 

and on the same footing with King Arthur, Sir 
Tristram, and Archbishop Turpin : not because 
they thought him a fabulous writer, but because 
they took them all for true and authentic His- 
torians. To so little purpose was it in that age 
for a man to be at the pains of writing truth ! 
Pray, are you come to the four Irish Kings, 
that went to school to K. Richard y e 2d/s Master 
of the Ceremonies ; and the man who informed 
Froissard of all he had seen in St. Patrick's 
Purgatory ? 

Letters (1760) 

LAURENCE STERNE 

44. A Discussion regarding he Fevre 

Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle 
Toby to the Corporal, as he was putting him to 
bed, — and I will tell thee in what, Trim. — In the 
first place, when thou madest an offer of my 
services to Le Fevre, — as sickness and travelling 
are both expensive, — and thou knowest he was 
but a poor Lieutenant, with a son to subsist as 
well as himself out of his pay, — that thou didst 



104 LAURENCE STERNE 

not make an offer to him of my purse ; because, 
had he stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had 

been as welcome to it as myself, —Your Honour 

knows said the Corporal, I had no orders. 

True, quoth my uncle Toby, — thou didst very 
right, Trim, as a soldier, — but certainly very 
wrong as a man. 

In the second place, for which, indeed, thou 
hast the same excuse, continued my uncle Toby, 
— when thou offeredst him whatever was in my 
house, — thou shouldst have offered him my 
house too. — A sick brother officer should have the 
best quarters, Trim : and if we had him with us, 
— we could tend and look to him. — Thou art an 
excellent nurse thyself, Trim; — and what with 
thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his 
boy's, and mine together, we might recruit him 
again at once, and set him upon his legs. 

In a fortnight or three weeks, added my 

uncle Toby, smiling, — he might march. He 

will never march, an' please your Honour, in this 

world, said the Corporal. He will march, said 

my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed 

with one shoe off. An' please your Honour, 

said the Corporal, he will never march, but to 



LAURENCE STERNE 105 

his grave. He shall march, cried my uncle 

Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, 
though without advancing an inch, — he shall 

march to his regiment. -He cannot stand it, 

said the Corporal. He shall be supported, 

said my uncle Toby. He'll drop at last, said 

the Corporal ; and what will become of his boy ? 

He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, 

firmly. Ah well-a-day ! — do what we can for 

him, said Trim, maintaining his point, — the poor 

soul will die. He shall not die, by G — / cried 

my uncle Toby. 

The accusing spirit, which flew up to 

Heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he 
gave it in ; — and the recording angel, as he wrote 
it down, dropp'd a tear upon the word, and 
blotted it out for ever. 

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy ', Gent. (1762), 
Vol. vi., Ch. 8 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

45. George Primrose goes to London 

As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I deter- 
mined to send him to town, where his abilities 



106 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

might contribute to our support and his own. 
The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, 
one of the most distressful circumstances at- 
tendant on penury. The day soon arrived on 
which we were to disperse for the first time. My 
son, after taking leave of his mother and the rest, 
who mingled their tears with their kisses, came 
to ask a blessing from me This I gave him from 
my heart, and which, added to five guineas, was 
all the patrimony I had now to bestow. 
" You are going, my boy," cried I, " to London 
on foot, in the manner Hooker, your great ances- 
tor, travelled there before you. Take from me 
the same horse that was given him by the good 
bishop Jewel, this staff, and take this book too, 
it will be your comfort on the way: these two 
lines in it are worth a million, ' I have been 
young, and now am old ; yet never saw I the 
righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their 
bread/ Let this be your consolation as you 
travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be thy fortune 
let me see thee once a year; still keep a good 
heart, and farewell." As he was possessed of 
integrity and honour, I was under no appre- 
hensions from throwing him naked into the 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 107 

amphitheatre of life; for I knew he would act 
a good part whether he rose or fell. 

The Vicar of Wakefield (1766), Ch. iii 



WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

46. The Death of the Chevalier Bayard 

At the beginning of the charge, Bonnivet, while 
exerting himself with much valour, was wounded 
so dangerously as obliged him to quit the field; 
and the conduct of the rear was committed to the 
Chevalier Bayard, who, though so much a 
stranger to the arts of a court that he never rose 
to the chief command, was always called, in times 
of real danger, to the posts of greatest difficulty 
and importance. He put himself at the head of 
the men-at-arms, and, animating them by his 
presence and example to sustain the whole shock 
of the enemy's troops, he gained time for the 
rest of his countrymen to make good their retreat. 
But in this service he received a wound which he 
immediately perceived to be mortal, and, being 
unable to continue any longer on horseback, he 
ordered one of his attendants to place him under 



108 WILLIAM ROBERTSON 

a tree, with his face towards the enemy; then, 
fixing his eyes on the guard of his sword, which 
he held up instead of a cross, he addressed his 
prayers to God, and in this posture, which be- 
came his character both as a soldier and as a 
Christian, he calmly awaited the approach of 
death. Bourbon, who led the foremost of the 
enemy's troops, found him in this situation, and 
expressed regret and pity at the sight. " Pity 
not me," cried the high-spirited chevalier. " I 
die as a man of honour ought, in the discharge of 
my duty: they indeed are objects of pity who 
fight against their king, their country, and their 
oath." The marquis de Pescara, passing soon 
after, manifested his admiration of Bayard's vir- 
tues, and his sorrow for his fall, with the gener- 
osity of a gallant enemy, and finding that he 
could not be removed with safety from that spot, 
ordered a tent to be pitched there, and appointed 
proper persons to attend him. He died, notwith- 
standing their care, as his ancestors for several 
generations had done, in the field of battle. Pes- 
cara ordered his body to be embalmed and sent 
to his relations ; and such was the respect paid 
to military merit in that age that the duke of 



WILLIAM ROBERTSON 109 

Savoy commanded it to be received with royal 
honours in all the cities of his dominions : in 
Dauphine, Bayard's native country, the people of 
all ranks came out in a solemn procession to 
meet it. 

History of the Reign of Charles V. (1769), Bk. iii 



TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT 

47. Lismahago's Revenge 

In the meantime, Lady Bullford conducted us 
into the garden to see a fish-pond just finished, 
which Mr. Bramble censured as being too near 
the parlour, where the knight now sat by himself, 
dozing in an elbow-chair after the fatigues of his 
morning achievement. In this situation he re- 
clined, with his feet wrapped in flannel, and sup- 
ported in a line with his body; when the door 
flying open with a violent shock, Lieutenant 
Lismahago rushed into the room with horror in 
his looks, exclaiming, " A mad dog ! a mad dog ! " 
and throwing up the window-sash, leaped into 
the garden. Sir Thomas, waked by this tremen- 
dous exclamation, started up, and, forgetting his 



HO TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT 

gout, followed the lieutenant's example by a 
kind of instinctive impulse. He not only bolted 
through the window like an arrow from a bow, 
but ran up to his middle in the pond, before he 
gave the least sign of recollection. Then the 

captain began to bawl " Lord, have mercy 

upon us! — Pray, take care of the gentleman! — 
For God's sake, mind your footing, my dear boy ! 
— Get warm blankets ! — Comfort his poor carcass ! 
— Warm the bed in the green room ! " 

Lady Bullford was thunderstruck at this phe- 
nomenon, and the rest of the company gazed in 
silent astonishment, while the servants hastened 
to assist their master, who suffered himself to 
be carried back into the parlour without speaking 
a word. Being instantly accommodated with 
dry clothes and flannels, comforted with a cordial, 
and replaced in statu quo, one of the maids was 
ordered to chafe his lower extremities, an oper- 
ation in consequence of which his senses seemed 
to return, and his good humour to revive. As we 
had followed him into the room, he looked at 
every individual in his turn, with a certain 
ludicrous expression in his countenance; but 
fixed his eye in particular upon Lismahago, who 



TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT m 

presented him with a pinch of snuff, and when 

he took it in silence " Sir Thomas Bullford," 

said he, " I am much obliged to you for all your 
favours, and some of them I have endeavoured to 

repay in your own coin." " Give me thy 

hand," cried the baronet ; " thou hast, indeed, 
paid me Scot and lot; and even left a balance 
in my hands, for which, in presence of this com- 
pany, I promise to be accountable." So saying, 
he laughed very heartily, and even seemed to 
enjoy the retaliation which had been exacted at 
his own expense : but Lady Bullford looked very 
grave; and, in all probability, thought the lieu- 
tenant had carried his resentment too far, consid- 
ering that her husband was valetudinary. But, 
according to the proverb, He that will play at 
bowls must expect to meet with rubbers. 

The Expedition of Humphry Clinker (1771), Vol. iii 



ADAM SMITH 

48. Taxes upon the Necessaries of Life 

Taxes upon luxuries are finally paid by the con- 
sumers of the commodities taxed, without any 



112 ADAM SMITH 

retribution. They fall indifferently upon every 
species of revenue, the wages of labour, the 
profits of stock, and the rent of land. Taxes 
upon necessaries, so far as they affect the labour- 
ing poor, are finally paid, partly by landlords in 
the diminished rent of their lands, and partly by 
rich consumers, whether landlords or others, in 
the advanced price of manufactured goods ; and 
always with a considerable overcharge. The ad- 
vanced price of such manufactures as are 
real necessaries of life, and are destined for 
the consumption of the poor, of coarse woollens, 
for example, must be compensated to the poor 
by a further advancement of their wages. The 
middling and superior ranks of people, if they 
understood their own interest, ought always to 
oppose all taxes upon the necessaries of life, as 
well as all direct taxes upon the wages of labour. 
The final payment of both the one and the other 
falls altogether upon themselves, and always with 
a considerable overcharge. They fall heaviest 
upon the landlords, who always pay in a double 
capacity ; in that of landlords, by the reduction 
of their rent; and in that of rich consumers, by 
the increase of their expense. The observation 



ADAM SMITH 



113 



of Sir Matthew Decker, that certain taxes are, 
in the price of certain goods, sometimes repeated 
and accumulated four or five times, is perfectly 
just with regard to taxes upon the necessaries 
of life. In the price of leather, for example, you 
must pay, not only for the tax upon the leather 
of your own shoes, but for a part of that upon 
those of the shoemaker and the tanner. You 
must pay too for the tax upon the salt, upon the 
soap, and upon the candles which those workmen 
consume while employed in your service, and for 
the tax upon the leather, which the salt-maker, 
the soap-maker, and the candle-maker consume 
while employed in their service. 

The Wealth of Nations (1776), Bk. v., Ch. ii 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 

49. Charles Surface sells his Ancestors' 
Portraits 

Chas. Surf. But come, get to your pulpit, Mr. 
Auctioneer; here's an old gouty chair of my 
grandfather's will answer the purpose. 

Care. Ay, ay, this will do. But, Charles, I 



ii4 



RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 



haven't a hammer; and what's an auctioneer 
without his hammer? 

Chas. Surf. Egad, that's true. What parch- 
ment have we here? Oh, our genealogy in full. 
[Taking pedigree down.] Here, Careless, you 
shall have no common bit of mahogany, here's 
the family tree for you, you rogue ! This shall be 
your hammer, and now you may knock down my 
ancestors with their own pedigree. 

Sir Oliv. What an unnatural rogue! — an ex 
post facto parricide ! [Aside. 

Care. Yes, yes, here's a list of your generation 
indeed ; — faith, Charles, this is the most conven- 
ient thing you could have found for the business, 
for 'twill not only serve as a hammer, but a cata- 
logue into the bargain. Come, begin — A-going, 
a-going, a-going! 

Chas. Surf. Bravo, Careless! Well, here's 
my great uncle, Sir Richard Ravelin, a marvel- 
lous good general in his day, I assure you. He 
served in all the Duke of Marlborough's wars, 
and got that cut over his eye at the battle of 
Malplaquet. What say you, Mr. Premium? look 
at him — there's a hero! not cut out of his feath- 
ers, as your modern clipped captains are, but 



RICHARD BRIXSLEY SHERIDAN 



115 



enveloped in wig and regimentals, as a general 
should be. What do you bid? 

Sir Oliv. [Aside to Moses.] Bid him speak. 

Mos. Mr. Premium would have you speak. 

Chas. Surf. Why, then, he shall have him for 
ten pounds, and I'm sure that's not dear for a 
staff-officer. 

Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Heaven deliver me! his 
famous uncle Richard for ten pounds ! — [Aloud.] 
Very well, sir, I take him at that. 

Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down my uncle 
Richard. — Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, 
my great-aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, in his 
best manner, and esteemed a very formidable 
likeness. There she is, you see, a shepherdess 
feeding her flock. You shall have her for five 
pounds ten — the sheep are worth the money. 

Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Ah! poor Deborah! a 
woman who set such a value on herself! — 
[Aloud.] Five pounds ten — she's mine. 

Chas. Surf. Knock down my aunt Deborah ! 
The School for Scandal (1777), Act iv., Sc. i 



FANNY BURNEY [MME D'ARBLAY] 

50. Unamiable Sisters 

Some time after this, Miss Polly contrived to 
tell her story. She assured me, with much titter- 
ing, that her sister was in a great fright lest she 
should be married first. " So I make her be- 
lieve that I will," continued she ; " for I love 
dearly to plague her a little; though, I declare, 
I don't intend to have Mr. Brown in reality ; — 
I'm sure I don't like him half well enough, — do 
you, Miss?" 

" It is not possible for me to judge of his 
merits," said I, " as I am entirely a stranger to 
him." 

" But what do you think of him, Miss ? " 

" Why, really, I— I don't know." 

" But do you think him handsome ? Some 
people reckon him to have a good pretty person ; 
— but I'm sure, for my part, I think he's mon- 
strous ugly: — don't you, Miss?" 

" I am no judge, — but I think his person is 
very — very well." 

116 



FANNY BURNEY [MME D'ARBLAY] 117 

" Very well! — Why, pray, Miss," in a tone 
of vexation, " what fault can you find with 
it?" 

" O, none at all ! " 

" I'm sure you must be very ill-natured if 
you could. Now there's Biddy says she thinks 
nothing of him, — but I know it's all out of spite. 
You must know, Miss, it makes her as mad as 
can be that I should have a lover before her ; but 
she's so proud that nobody will court her, and I 
often tell her she'll die an old maid. But the 
thing is, she has taken it into her head to have 
a liking for Mr. Smith, as lodges on the first floor ; 
but, Lord, he'll never have her, for he's quite a 
fine gentleman; and besides, Mr. Brown heard 
him say one day, that he'd never marry as 
long as he lived, for he'd no opinion of matri- 
mony." 

" And did you tell your sister this ? " 

" O, to be sure, I told her directly ; but she did 
not mind me; however, if she will be a fool she 
must." 

This extreme want of affection and good-nature 
increased the distaste I already felt for these un- 
amiable sisters ; and a confidence so entirely un- 



Il8 FANNY BURNEY [MME D'ARBLAY] 

solicited and unnecessary, manifested equally 
their folly and their want of decency. 

Evelina (1778), Let. xl 



SAMUEL JOHNSON 

51. Pope's processed Contempt of the World 

He very frequently professes contempt of the 
world, and represents himself as looking on 
mankind, sometimes with gay indifference, as on 
emmets of a hillock, below his serious attention; 
and sometimes with gloomy indignation, as on 
monsters more worthy of hatred than of pity. 
These were dispositions apparently counterfeited. 
How could he despise those whom he lived by 
pleasing, and on whose approbation his esteem 
of himself was superstructed ? Why should he 
hate those to whose favour he owed his honour and 
his ease? Of things that terminate in human 
life, the world is the proper judge; to despise its 
sentence, if it were possible, is not just; and if 
it were just, is not possible. Pope was far 
enough from this unreasonable temper; he was 
sufficiently " a fool to Fame," and his fault was 



SAMUEL JOHNSON 1 19 

that he pretended to neglect it. His levity and 
his sullenness were only in his Letters ; he passed 
through common life sometimes vexed, and some- 
times pleased, with the natural emotions of com- 
mon men. 

Lives of the Poets (1781), Vol. vii 



WILLIAM COWPER 

52. The Death of the Fox 

One day last week, Mrs. Unwin and I, having 
taken our morning walk, and returning home- 
ward through the Wilderness, met the Throck- 
mortons. A minute after we had met them, we 
heard the cry of hounds at no great distance, and 
mounting the broad stump of an elm, which had 
been felled, and by the aid of which we were en- 
abled to look over the wall, we saw them. They 
were all that time in our orchard ; presently we 
heard a terrier, belonging to Mrs. Throckmorton, 
which you may remember by the name of Fury, 
yelping with much vehemence, and saw her run- 
ning through the thickets, within a few yards of 
us, at her utmost speed, as if in pursuit of some- 



120 WILLIAM COWPER 

thing which we doubted not was the fox. Before 
we could reach the other end of the Wilderness, 
the hounds entered also; and when we arrived 
at the gate which opens into the grove, there we 
found the whole weary cavalcade assembled. The 
huntsman dismounting begged leave to follow 
his hounds on foot, for he was sure, he said, that 
they killed him, — a conclusion which, I suppose, 
he drew from their profound silence. He was 
accordingly admitted, and with a sagacity that 
would not have dishonoured the best hound in the 
world, pursuing precisely the same track which 
the fox and the dogs had taken, though he had 
never had a glimpse of either after their first 
entrance through the rails, arrived where he 
found the slaughtered prey. He soon produced 
dead reynard, and rejoined us in the grove with 
all his dogs about him. Having an opportunity 
to see a ceremony, which I was pretty sure 
would never fall in my way again, I determined 
to stay, and to notice all that passed with the 
most minute attention. The huntsman having by 
the aid of a pitchfork lodged reynard on the arm 
of an elm, at the height of about nine feet from 
the ground, here left him for a considerable time. 



WILLIAM COWPER 121 

The gentlemen sat on their horses contemplating 
the fox, for which they had toiled so hard; and 
the hounds assembled at the foot of the tree, 
with faces not less expressive of the most rational 
delight, contemplated the same object. The 
huntsman remounted, cut off a foot, and threw 
it to the hounds — one of them swallowed it whole 
like a bolus. He then once more alighted, and 
drawing down the fox by the hinder legs, de- 
sired the people, who were by this time rather 
numerous, to open a lane for him to the right 
and left. He was instantly obeyed, when, throw- 
ing the fox to the distance of some yards, and 
screaming like a fiend, " tear him to pieces " — 
at least six times repeatedly — he consigned him 
over absolutely to the pack, who in a few minutes 
devoured him completely. Thus, my dear, as 
Virgil says, what none of the gods could have 
ventured to promise me, time itself, pursuing its 
accustomed course, has of its own accord pre- 
sented me with. I have been in at the death of a 
fox, and you now know as much of the matter 
as I, who am as well informed as any sportsman 
in England. 

Letters (1788) 



EDWARD GIBBON 

53. Gibbon as a Lover 

I hesitate, from the apprehension of ridicule, 
when I approach the delicate subject of my early 
love. By this word I do not mean the polite 
attention, the gallantry, without hope or design, 
which has originated in the spirit of chivalry, 
and is interwoven with the texture of French 
manners. I understand by this passion the union 
of desire, friendship, and tenderness, which is 
inflamed by a single female, which prefers her 
to the rest of her sex, and which seeks her 
possession as the supreme or the sole happiness 
of our being. I need not blush at recollecting 
the object of my choice ; and though my love 
was disappointed of success, I am rather proud 
that I was once capable of feeling such a pure 
and exalted sentiment. The personal attractions 
of Mademoiselle Susan Curchod were embellished 
by the virtues and talents of the mind. Her 
fortune was humble, but her family was re- 



EDWARD GIBBON 



123 



spectable. Her mother, a native of France, had 
preferred her religion to her country. The pro- 
fession of her father did not extinguish the 
moderation and philosophy of his temper, and he 
lived content with a small salary and laborious 
duty in the obscure lot of minister of Crassy, 
in the mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud 
from the county of Burgundy. In the solitude 
of a sequestered village he bestowed a liberal, 
and even a learned, education on his only 
daughter. She surpassed his hopes by her pro- 
ficiency in the sciences and languages ; and in 
her short visits to some relations at Lausanne, 
the wit, the beauty, and erudition of Mademoiselle 
Curchod were the theme of universal applause. 
The report of such a prodigy awakened my 
curiosity; I saw and loved. I found her learned 
without pedantry, lively in conversation, pure in 
sentiment, and elegant in manners ; and the first 
sudden emotion was fortified by the habits and 
knowledge of a more familiar acquaintance. She 
permitted me to make her two or three visits at 
her father's house. I passed some happy days 
there, in the mountains of Burgundy, and her 
parents honourably encouraged the connection. 



124 



EDWARD GIBBON 



In a calm retirement the gay vanity of youth no 
longer fluttered in her bosom; she listened to 
the voice of truth and passion, and I might 
presume to hope that I had made some impression 
on a virtuous heart. At Crassy and Lausanne I 
indulged my dream of felicity : but on my return 
to England, I soon discovered that my father 
would not hear of this strange alliance, and that 
without his consent I was myself destitute and 
helpless. After a painful struggle I yielded to 
my fate : I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as a son ; 
my wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, 
and the habits of a new life. My cure was accel- 
erated by a faithful report of the tranquillity and 
cheerfulness of the lady herself, and my love sub- 
sided in friendship and esteem. The minister 
of Crassy soon afterwards died; his stipend died 
with him ; his daughter retired to Geneva, where, 
by teaching young ladies, she earned a hard sub- 
sistence for herself and her mother; but in her 
lowest distress she maintained a spotless reputa- 
tion, and a dignified behaviour. A rich banker 
of Paris, a citizen of Geneva, had the good for- 
tune and good sense to discover and possess this 
inestimable treasure; and in the capital of taste 



EDWARD GIBBON 125 

and luxury she resisted the temptations of wealth, 
as she had sustained the hardships of indigence. 
The genius of her husband has exalted him to 
the most conspicuous station in Europe. In 
every change of prosperity and disgrace he has 
reclined on the bosom of a faithful friend; and 
Mademoiselle Curchod is now the w T ife of M. 
Necker, the minister, and perhaps the legislator, 
of the French monarchy. 

Memoirs of my Life and Writings (c. 1789) 



GILBERT WHITE 

54. " The Raven Tree " 

In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, 
which, though shapely and tall on the whole, 
bulged out into a large excrescence about the 
middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens had 
fixed their residence for such a series of years, 
that the oak was distinguished by the title of 
the Raven Tree. Many were the attempts of 
the neighbouring youths to get at this eyry : the 
difficulty whetted their inclinations, and each 
was ambitious of surmounting the arduous task. 



126 GILBERT WHITE 

But, when they arrived at the swelling, it jutted 
out so in their way, and was so far beyond 
their grasp, that the most daring lads were awed, 
and acknowledged the undertaking to be too 
hazardous : so the ravens built on, nest upon nest, 
in perfect security, till the fatal day arrived in 
which the wood was to be levelled. It was in the 
month of February, when these birds usually 
sit. The saw was applied to the butt, — the 
wedges were inserted into the opening, — the 
woods echoed to the heavy blow of the beetle or 
mall or mallet, — the tree nodded to its fall; but 
still the dam sat on. At last, when it gave way, 
the bird was flung from her nest; and though 
her parental affection deserved a better fate, was 
whipped down by the twigs, which brought her 
dead to the ground. 

The Natural History of Selbourne (1789), Pt. L, Let. 2 

JAMES BOSWELL 

55. Boswell Meets Dr. Johnson 

Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respect- 
fully introduced me to him. I was much agitated ; 



JAMES BOSWELL 127 

and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, 
of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, 
" Don't tell where I come from." " From Scot- 
land," cried Davies roguishly. " Mr. Johnson 
(said I), I do indeed come from Scotland, but 
I cannot help it." I am willing to flatter myself 
that I meant this as light pleasantry to soothe 
and conciliate him, and not as any humiliating 
abasement at the expense of my country. But 
however that might be, this speech was some- 
what unlucky; for with that quickness of wit 
for which he was so remarkable, he seized the 
expression " come from Scotland," which I used 
in the sense of being of that country ; and, as 
if I had said that I had come away from it, or 
left it, retorted, " That, sir, I find, is what a 
very great many of your countrymen cannot 
help." This stroke stunned me a good deal ; 
and when we had sat down I felt myself not a 
little embarrassed and apprehensive of what 
might come next. He then addressed himself 
to Davies : " What do you think of Garrick ? 
He has refused me an order for the play for 
Miss Williams, because he knows the house will 
be full, and that an order would be worth three 



128 JAMES BOSWELL 

shillings." Eager to take any opening to get 
into conversation with him, I ventured to say, 
" O, sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would 
grudge such a trifle to you." " Sir (said he, with 
a stern look), I have known David Garrick 
longer than you have done : and I know no 
right you have to talk to me on the subject." 
Perhaps I deserved this check ; for it was rather 
presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to ex- 
press any doubt of the justness of the animad- 
version upon his old acquaintance and pupil. 
I now felt myself much mortified, and began to 
think that the hope which I had long indulged 
of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted. And, 
in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly 
strong, and my resolution uncommonly per- 
severing, so rough a reception might have de- 
terred me for ever from making any further 
attempts. 

The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. (1791) 



MRS. RADCLIFFE 

56. Ludovico the Night before his 

Disappearance 

He lighted the Count and Henri through the 
chambers to the outer door ; on the landing-place 
stood a lamp, which one of the affrighted servants 
had left, and Henri, as he took it up, again bade 
Ludovico good-night, who, having respectfully 
returned the wish, closed the door upon them, 
and fastened it. Then, as he retired to the bed- 
chamber, he examined the rooms, through which 
he passed, with more minuteness than he had 
done before, for he apprehended, that some 
person might have concealed himself in them, 
for the purpose of frightening him. No one, 
however, but himself, was in these chambers, 
and, leaving open the doors, through which he 
passed, he came again to the great drawing- 
room, whose spaciousness and silent gloom some- 
what awed him. For a moment he stood, looking 
back through the long suite of rooms he had 
quitted, and, as he turned, perceiving a light and 
129 



130 MRS. RADCLIFFE 

his own figure, reflected in one of the large 
mirrors, he started. Other objects too were seen 
obscurely on its dark surface, but he paused not 
to examine them, and returned hastily into the 
bed-room ; as he surveyed which, he observed 
the door of the oriel, and opened it. All within 
was still. On looking round, his eye was ar- 
rested by the portrait of the deceased Mar- 
chioness, upon which he gazed, for a considerable 
time, with great attention and some surprise ; 
and then, having examined the closet, he returned 
into the bed-room, where he kindled a wood 
fire, the bright blaze of which revived his 
spirits, which had begun to yield to the gloom 
and silence of the place, for gusts of wind alone 
broke at intervals this silence. He now drew a 
small table and a chair near the fire, took a bottle 
of wine, and some cold provision out of his 
basket, and regaled himself. When he had fin- 
ished his repast, he laid his sword upon the 
table, and, not feeling disposed to sleep, drew 
from his pocket the book he had spoken of. — 
It was a volume of Provengal tales. Having 
stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, trimmed his 
lamp, and drawn his chair upon the hearth, he 



MRS. RADCLIFFE 



131 



began to read, and his attention was soon 
wholly occupied by the scenes, which the page 
disclosed. 

The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794) 

EDMUND BURKE 

57. In Reply to the Duke of Bedford 

The Duke of Bedford will stand as long as pre- 
scriptive law endures : as long as the great, stable 
laws of property, common to us with all civil- 
ized nations, are kept in their integrity, and with- 
out the smallest intermixture of the laws, maxims, 
principles, or precedents of the grand revolution. 
They are secure against all changes but one. 
The whole revolutionary system, institutes, di- 
gest, code, novels, text, gloss, comment, are, not 
only not the same, but they are the very reverse, 
and the reverse fundamentally, of all the laws, 
on which civil life has hitherto been upheld in 
all the governments of the world. The learned 
professors of the rights of man regard pre- 
scription, not as a title to bar all claim, set up 
against old possession — but they look on pre- 



I 3 2 EDMUND BURKE 

scription as itself a bar against the possessor 
and proprietor. They hold an immemorial 
possession to be no more than a long continued, 
and therefore an aggravated injustice. 

Such are their ideas; such their religion, and 
such their law. But as to our country and our 
race, as long as the well-compacted structure 
of our church and state, the sanctuary, the holy 
of holies of that ancient law, defended by rev- 
erence, defended by power, a fortress at once 
and a temple, shall stand inviolate on the brow 
of the British Sion — as long as the British mon- 
archy, not more limited than fenced by the orders 
of the state, shall, like the proud Keep of Wind- 
sor, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt 
with the double belt of its kindred and coeval 
towers, as long as this awful structure shall 
oversee and guard the subjected land — so long 
the mounds and dykes of the low, fat, Bedford 
level will have nothing to fear from all the pick- 
axes of all the levellers of France. As long as 
our sovereign lord the king, and his faithful 
subjects, the lords and commons of this realm, — 
the triple cord, which no man can break ; the 
solemn, sworn, constitutional frank-pledge of 



EDMUND BURKE 



133 



this nation; the firm guarantees of each other's 
being, and each other's rights; the joint and 
several securities, each in its place and order, 
for every kind and every quality, of property and 
of dignity : — as long as these endure, so long the 
Duke of Bedford is safe : and we are all safe 
together — the high from the blights of envy 
and the spoliations of rapacity ; the low from the 
iron hand of oppression and the insolent spurn 
of contempt. Amen ! and so be it : and so it will 
be, 

Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxnm 
Accolet; imperiumque pater Romanics habebit. 

A Letter to a Noble Lord (1796) 

ROBERT SOUTHEY 

58. Effects of the Death of Nelson 

The death of Nelson was felt in England as 
something more than a public calamity: men 
started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if 
they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An 
object of our admiration and affection, of our 
pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from 



134 



ROBERT SOUTHEY 



us; and it seemed as if we had never, till then, 
known how deeply we loved and reverenced 
him. What the country had lost in its great 
naval hero — the greatest of our own, and of all 
former times, was scarcely taken into the ac- 
count of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he 
performed his part, that the maritime war, after 
the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end : 
the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, 
but destroyed: new navies must be built, and a 
new race of seamen reared for them, before the 
possibility of their invading our shores could 
again be contemplated. It was not, therefore, 
from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude 
of our loss that we mourned for him: the gen- 
eral sorrow was of a higher character. The 
people of England grieved that funeral ceremo- 
nies, public monuments and posthumous rewards, 
were all which they could now bestow upon him, 
whom the king, the legislature, and the nation, 
would alike have delighted to honour; whom 
every tongue would have blessed ; whose presence 
in every village through which he might have 
passed would have wakened the church bells, 
have given school-boys a holiday, have drawn 



ROBERT SOUTHEY I35 

children from their sports to gaze upon him, and 
" old men from the chimney corner/' to look 
upon Nelson ere they died. The victory of 
Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual 
forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; 
for such already was the glory of the British 
navy, through Nelson's surpassing genius, that 
it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from 
the most signal victory that ever was achieved 
upon the seas : and the destruction of this mighty 
fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France 
were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add 
to our security or strength ; for, while Nelson 
was living, to watch the combined squadrons of 
the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, 
when they were no longer in existence. 

The Life of Nelson (1813) 

JANE AUSTEN 

59. The Rev, Mr. Collins and his Patronesses 

"I think you said she was a widow, sir? has 
she any family? " 

" She has one only daughter, the heiress of 
Rosings, and a very extensive property." 



136 JANE AUSTEN 

" All," cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, 
" then she is better off than many girls. And 
what sort of young lady is she? Is she hand- 
some ? " 

" She is a most charming young lady, indeed. 
Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true 
beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the 
handsomest of her sex; because there is that in 
her features which marks the young woman of 
distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a 
sickly constitution, which has prevented her 
making that progress in many accomplishments 
which she could not otherwise have failed of, 
as I am informed by the lady who superintended 
her education, and who still resides with them. 
But she is perfectly amiable, and often conde- 
scends to drive by my humble abode in her little 
phaeton and ponies." 

" Has she been presented ? I do not remember 
her name among the ladies at court." 

" Her indifferent state of health unhappily 
prevents her being in town ; and by that means, 
as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has de- 
prived the British Court of its brightest ornament. 
Her Ladyship seemed pleased with the idea ; and 



JANE AUSTEN 137 

you may imagine that I am happy on every oc- 
casion to offer those little delicate compliments 
which are always acceptable to ladies. I have 
more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that 
her charming daughter seemed born to be a 
duchess ; and that the most elevated rank, instead 
of giving her consequence, would be adorned 
by her. These are the kind of little things which 
please her Ladyship, and it is a sort of attention 
which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to 
pay." 

"You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet; 
" and it is happy for you that you possess the 
talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask 
whether these pleasing attentions proceed from 
the impulse of the moment, or are the result of 
previous study ? " 

" They arise chiefly from what is passing at 
the time ; and though I sometimes amuse myself 
with suggesting and arranging such little elegant 
compliments as may be adapted to ordinary oc- 
casions, I always wish to give them as unstudied 
an air as possible." 

Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. 
His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped ; and 



138 JANE AUSTEN 

he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, 
maintaining at the same time the most resolute 
composure of countenance, and, except in an 
occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no 
partner in his pleasure. 

Pride and Prejudice (1813), Ch. xiv 

MARIA EDGEWORTH 

60. Mrs. Hungerford 

The first visit she paid when she came to the 
country, the first visit she had been known to pay 
for years, was to her friends the Percys, after 
they had lost their thousands per annum. So 
completely was it themselves and not their for- 
tune, which she had always considered, that she 
never condoled with them, and scarcely seemed 
to advert to any change in their circumstances. 
She perceived, to be sure, that she was not at 
Percy-Hall ; she discovered, probably, that she 
was in a small instead of a large room, the 
change of prospect from the windows struck her 
eye, and she remarked, that this part of the 
country was more beautiful than that to which 
she had been accustomed. — As to the more or 



MARIA EDGEWORTH 



139 



less show, of dress, or equipage, these things 
did not merely make no difference in Mrs. 
Hungerford's estimation of persons, but in fact 
scarcely made any impression upon her senses 
or attention. She had been so much accustomed 
to magnificence upon a large scale, that the 
different subordinate degrees were lost upon her, 
and she had seen so many changes of fashion and 
of fortune, that she attached little importance to 
these, but, regardless of the drapery of objects, 
saw at once what was substantial and essential. 
It might, she thought, be one man's taste to visit 
her in a barouche and four, with half a dozen 
servants, and another person's pleasure to come 
without parade or attendants — this was indiffer- 
ent to her. It was their conversation, their 
characters, their merit, she looked to ; and many 
a lord and lady of showy dress and equipage, and 
vast importance in their own opinions, shrunk 
into insignificance in the company of Mrs. 
Hungerford ; and, though in the room with her, 
passed before her eyes without making a sufficient 
sensation upon her organs to attract her notice, 
or to change the course of her thoughts. 

Patronage (18 14), Ch. xiv 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 

61. Advice to Young Authors 

With no other privilege than that of sympathy 
and sincere good wishes, I would address an 
affectionate exhortation to the youthful literati, 
grounded on my own experience. It will be but 
short; for the beginning, middle, and end con- 
verge to one charge: never pursue literature as 
a trade. With the exception of one extraordinary 
man, I have never known an individual, least 
of all an individual of genius, healthy or happy 
without a profession, that is, some regular em- 
ployment, which does not depend on the will of 
the moment, and which can be carried on so far 
mechanically that an average quantum only of 
health, spirits, and intellectual exertion are 
requisite to its faithful discharge. Three hours 
of leisure, unannoy^d by any alien anxiety, and 
looked forward to with delight as a change and 
recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a 
larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks 
of compulsion. Money, and immediate reputation 
form only an arbitrary and accidental end of 
140 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 



I 4 I 



literary labour. The hope of increasing them by 
any given exertion will often prove a stimulant 
to industry; but the necessity of acquiring them 
will in all works of genius convert the stimulant 
into a narcotic. Motives by excess reverse their 
very nature, and instead of exciting, stun and 
stupefy the mind. For it is one contradistinction 
of genius from talent, that its predominant end 
is always comprised in the means ; and this is 
one of the many points, which establish an anal- 
ogy between genius and virtue. Now though 
talents may exist without genius, yet as genius 
cannot exist, certainly not manifest itself, with- 
out talents, I would advise every scholar, who 
feels the genial power working within him, so 
far to make a division between the two, as that 
he should devote his talents to the acquirement 
of competence in some known trade or pro- 
fession, and his genius to objects of his tranquil 
and unbiassed choice; while the consciousness 
of being actuated in both alike by the sincere 
desire to perform his duty, will alike ennoble 
both. 

Biographia Literaria (1817) 



THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK 

62. The Charms of Childhood 

Fresh air and liberty are all that is necessary 
to the happiness of children. In that blissful age 
" when nature's self is new/' the bloom of in- 
terest and beauty is found alike in every object 
of perception- — in the grass of the meadow, the 
moss on the rock, and the seaweed on the sand. 
They find gems and treasures in shells and 
pebbles; and the gardens of fairyland in the 
simplest flowers. They have no melancholy 
associations with autumn or with evening. The 
falling leaves are their playthings ; and the 
setting sun only tells them that they must go to 
rest as he does, and that he will light them to 
their sports in the morning. It is this bloom 
of novelty, and the pure, unclouded, unvitiated 
feelings with which it is contemplated, that throw 
such an unearthly radiance on the scenes of our 
infancy, however humble in themselves, and give 
a charm to their recollections which not even 
Tempe can compensate. It is the force of first 
impressions. The first meadow in which we 

142 



THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK 143 

gather cowslips, the first stream on which we 
sail, the first home in which we awake to the 
sense of human sympathy, have all a peculiar 
and exclusive charm, which we shall never find 
again in richer meadows, mightier rivers, and 
more magnificent dwellings ; nor even in them- 
selves, when we revisit them after the lapse of 
years, and the sad realities of noon have dissi- 
pated the illusions of sunrise. 

Melincourt (1817), Ch. xx 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 

63. Richard Cceur-de-Lion 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited 
Knight a champion in black armour, mounted on 
a black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appear- 
ance powerful and strong. The knight, who bore 
on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto 
evinced very little interest in the event of the 
fight, beating ofif with seeming ease those knights 
who attacked him, but neither pursuing his ad- 
vantages, nor himself assailing any one. In short, 
he acted the part rather of a spectator than of a 



144 SIR WALTER SCOTT 

party in the tournament, a circumstance which 
procured him among the spectators the name of 
Le Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his 
apathy when he discovered the leader of his 
party so hard bestead; for, setting spurs to his 
horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his 
assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming in a 
voice like a trumpet-call, " Desdichado, to the 
rescue ! " It was high time ; for, while the Dis- 
inherited Knight was pressing upon the Templar, 
Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with up- 
lifted sword ; but ere the blow could descend, the 
Sable Knight encountered him, and Front-de- 
Bceuf rolled on the ground, both horse and man. 
Le Noir Faineant then turned his horse upon 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his own sword 
having been broken in his encounter with Front- 
de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand of the bulky 
Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, and 
dealt him such a blow upon the crest, that Athel- 
stane also lay senseless on the field. Having 
achieved this feat, for which he was the more 
highly applauded that it was totally unexpected 
from him, the knight seemed to resume the 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 145 

sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to 
the northern extremity of the lists, leaving his 
leader to cope as he best could with Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. 

Ivanhoe (1819), Ch. xii 



CHARLES LAMB 

64. Mrs. Battle on Whist 

" A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of 
the game." This was the celebrated wish of old 
Sarah Battle (now with God), who, next to her 
devotions, loved a good game at whist She was 
none of your lukewarm gamesters, your half and 
half players, who have no objection to take a 
hand, if you want one to make up a rubber ; who 
affirm that they have no pleasure in winning; 
that they like to win one game and lose another ; 
that they can while away an hour very agreeably 
at a card table, but are indifferent whether they 
play or no; and will desire an adversary, who 
has slipped a wrong card, to take it up and play 
another. These insufferable triflers are the curse 
of a table. One of these flies will spoil a whole 



146 CHARLES LAMB 

pot. Of such it may be said, that they do not play 
at cards, but only play at playing at them. 

Sarah Battle was none of that breed. She de- 
tested them, as I do, from her heart and soul ; and 
would not, save upon a striking emergency, will- 
ingly seat herself at the same table with them. 
She loved a thorough-paced partner, a deter- 
mined enemy. She took, and gave no conces- 
sions. She hated favours. She never made a 
revoke, nor ever passed it over in her adversary 
without exacting the utmost forfeiture. She 
fought a good fight : cut and thrust. She held not 
her good sword (her cards) "like a dancer." 
She sat bolt upright ; and neither showed you her 
cards, nor desired to see yours. All people have 
their blind side — their superstitions ; and I have 
heard her declare, under the rose, that Hearts 
was her favourite suit. 

I never in my life — and I knew Sarah Battle 
many of the best years of it — saw her take out 
her snuff-box when it was her turn to play; or 
snuff a candle in the middle of a game ; or ring 
for a servant, till it was fairly over. She never 
introduced, or connived at, miscellaneous con- 
versation during its process. As she emphati- 



CHARLES LAMB I47 

cally observed, cards were cards: and if I ever 
saw unmingled distaste in her fine last-century 
countenance, it was at the airs of a young gentle- 
man of a literary turn, who had been with diffi- 
culty persuaded to take a hand ; and who, in his 
excess of candour, declared, that he thought there 
was no harm in unbending the mind now and 
then, after serious studies, in recreations of that 
kind ! She could not bear to have her noble oc- 
cupation, to which she wound up her faculties, 
considered in that light. It was her business, 
her duty, the thing she came into the world to do, 
— and she did it. She unbent her mind after- 
wards — over a book. 

London Magazine (Feb. 182 1 ) 

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

65.. Of Poetry 

Poetry is indeed something divine. It is at once 
the centre and circumference of knowledge; it 
is that which comprehends all science, and that 
to which all science must be referred. It is at 
the same time the root and blossom of all other 



I4 8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

systems of thought; it is that from which all 
spring, and that which adorns all ; and that which, 
if blighted, denies the fruit and the seed, and 
withholds from the barren world the nourishment 
and the succession of the scions of the tree of 
life. It is the perfect and consummate surface 
and bloom of all things ; it is as the odour and the 
colour of the rose to the texture of the elements 
which compose it, as the form and splendour of 
unfaded beauty to the secrets of anatomy and 
corruption. What were virtue, love, patriotism, 
friendship, — what were the scenery of this beauti- 
ful universe which we inhabit; what were our 
consolations on this side of the grave — and what 
were our aspirations beyond it, if poetry did not 
ascend to bring light and fire from those eternal 
regions where the owl-winged faculty of calcula- 
tion dare not ever soar? Poetry is not like rea- 
soning, a power to be exerted according to the de- 
termination of the will. A man cannot say, " I 
will compose poetry." The greatest poet even 
cannot say it ; for the mind in creation is as a fa- 
ding coal, which some invisible influence, like an 
inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness ; 
this power arises from within, like the colour of a 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 



149 



flower which fades and changes as it is developed, 
and the conscious portions of our nature are un- 
prophetic either of its approach or its departure. 
Could this influence be durable in its original 
purity and force, it is impossible to predict the 
greatness of the results ; but when composition 
begins, inspiration is already on the decline, and 
the most glorious poetry that has ever been com- 
municated to the world is probably a feeble 
shadow of the original conceptions of the poet, 
I appeal to the greatest poets of the present day, 
whether it is not an error to assert that the finest 
passages of poetry are produced by labour and 
study. The toil and the delay recommended by 
critics, can be justly interpreted to mean no more 
than a careful observation of the inspired mo- 
ments, and an artificial connection of the spaces 
between their suggestions, by the intertexture of 
conventional expressions : a necessity only im- 
posed by the limitedness of the poetical faculty 
itself: for Milton conceived the Paradise Lost 
as a whole before he executed it in portions. 
We have his own authority also for the muse 
having " dictated " to him the " unpremeditated 
song." And let this be an answer to those who 



ISO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

would allege the fifty-six various readings of the 
first line of the Orlando Furioso. Compositions 
so produced are to poetry what mosaic is to paint- 
ing. The instinct and intuition of the poetical 
faculty is still more observable in the plastic and 
pictorial arts: a great statue or picture grows 
under the power of the artist as a child in the 
mother's womb ; and the very mind which directs 
the hands in formation, is incapable of account- 
ing to itself for the origin, the gradations, or the 
media of the process. 

A Defence of Poetry (1821) 

JOHN GALT 
66. Drawing to an End 

My tasks are all near a close ; and in writing this 
final record of my ministry, the very sound of my 
pen admonishes me that my life is a burden on 
the back of flying time, that he will soon be 
obliged to lay down in his great store-house, the 
grave. Old age has, indeed, long warned me to 
prepare for rest, and the darkened windows of 
my sight shew that the night is coming on, while 



JOHN GALT 151 

deafness, like a door fast barred, has shut out all 
the pleasant sounds of this world, and enclosed 
me, as it were, in a prison, even from the voices 
of my friends. 

I have lived longer than the common lot of 
man, and I have seen, in my time, many muta- 
tions and turnings, and ups and downs, notwith- 
standing the great spread that has been in our 
national prosperity. I have beheld them that 
were flourishing like the green bay trees, made 
desolate, and their branches scattered. But, in 
my own estate, I have had a large and liberal ex- 
perience of goodness. 

At the beginning of my ministry I was reviled 
and rejected, but my honest endeavours to prove a 
faithful shepherd, were blessed from on high, 
and rewarded with the affection of my flock. 
Perhaps, in the vanity of doting old age, I 
thought in this there was a merit due to myself, 
which made the Lord to send the chastisement of 
the Canaille schism among my people, for I was 
then wroth without judgment, and by my heat 
hastened into an open division the flaw that a 
more considerate manner might have healed. But 
I confess my fault, and submit my cheek to the 



152 JOHN GALT 

smiter ; and I now see that the finger of Wisdom 
was in that probation, and it was far better that 
the weavers meddled with the things of God, 
which they could not change, than with those of 
the king, which they could only harm. In that 
matter, however, I was like our gracious mon- 
arch in the American war ; for though I thereby 
lost the pastoral allegiance of a portion of my 
people, in like manner as he did of his American 
subjects; yet, after the separation, I was enabled 
so to deport myself, that they shewed me many 
voluntary testimonies of affectionate respect, and 
which it would be a vain glory in me to rehearse 
here. One thing I must record, because it is as 
much to their honour as it is to mine. 

When it was known that I was to preach my 
last sermon, every one of those who had been my 
hearers, and who had seceded to the Canaille 
meeting, made it a point that day to be in the 
parish kirk, and to stand in the crowd, that made 
a lane of reverence for me to pass from the kirk- 
door to the back-yett of the Manse. And shortly 
after a deputation of all their brethren, with their 
minister at their head, came to me one morning, 
and presented to me a server of silver, in token, as 



JOHN GALT 153 

they were pleased to say, of their esteem for my 
blameless life, and the charity that I had practised 
towards the poor of all sects in the neighbour- 
hood ; which is set forth in a well-penned inscrip- 
tion, written by a weaver lad that works for his 
daily bread. Such a thing would have been a 
prodigy at the beginning of my ministry, but the 
progress of book learning and education has been 
wonderful since, and with it has come a spirit of 
greater liberality than the world knew before, 
bringing men of adverse principles and doctrines, 
into a more humane communion with each other, 
shewing, that it's by the mollifying influence of 
knowledge, the time will come to pass, when the 
tiger of papistry shall lie down with the lamb of 
reformation, and the vultures of prelacy be as 
harmless as the presbyterian doves; when the 
independent, the anabaptist, and every other 
order and denomination of Christians, not forget- 
ting even these poor little wrens of the Lord, the 
burghers and anti-burghers, who will pick from 
the hand of patronage, and dread no snare. 

Annals of the Parish (1821), Ch. li 



THOMAS DE QUINCEY 

67. A Dream of Easter Sunday 

I thought that it was a Sunday morning in 
May ; that it was Easter Sunday, and as yet very 
early in the morning. I was standing, as it 
seemed to me, at the door of my own cottage. 
Right before me lay the very scene which could 
really be commanded from that situation, but 
exalted, as was usual, and solemnised by the 
power of dreams. There were the same moun- 
tains, and the same lovely valley at their feet ; but 
the mountains were raised to more than Alpine 
height, and there was interspace far larger be- 
tween them of meadows and forest lawns; the 
hedges were rich with white roses ; and no living 
creature was to be seen, excepting that in the 
green churchyard there were cattle tranquilly re- 
posing upon the verdant graves, and particularly 
round about the grave of a child whom I had ten- 
derly loved, just as I had really beheld them, a 
little before sunrise, in the same summer when 
that child died. I gazed upon the well-known 
scene, and I said aloud (as I thought) to myself, 

i54 



THOMAS DE QUINCEY 155 

" It yet wants much of sunrise ; and it is Easter 
Sunday ; and that is the day on which they cele- 
brate the first-fruits of Resurrection. I will walk 
abroad; old griefs shall be forgotten to-day: for 
the air is cool and still, and the hills are high, 
and stretch away to heaven ; and the forest glades 
are as quiet as the churchyard ; and with the dew 
I can wash the fever from my forehead; and 
then I shall be unhappy no longer." 

Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821) 



LORD BYRON 
68. To his Wife 

I suppose that this note will reach you some- 
where about Ada's birthday — the 10th of De- 
cember, I believe. She will then be six, so that 
in about twelve more I shall have some chance 
of meeting her; — perhaps sooner, if I am 
obliged to go to England by business or other- 
wise. Recollect, however, one thing, either in 
distance or nearness ; — every day which keeps 
us asunder should, after so long a period, rather 
soften our mutual feelings, which must always 



156 LORD BYRON 

have one rallying-point as long as our child ex- 
ists, which I presume we both hope will be long 
after either of her parents. 

The time which has elapsed since the sepa- 
ration has been considerably more than the whole 
brief period of our union, and the not much 
longer one of our prior acquaintance. We both 
made a bitter mistake ; but now it is over and 
irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my part, 
and a few years less on yours, though it is no 
very extended period of life, still it is one when 
the habits and thought are generally so formed 
as to admit of no modification; and as we could 
not agree when younger, we should with diffi- 
culty do so now. 

I say all this, because I own to you, that, not- 
withstanding everything, I considered our re- 
union as not impossible for more than a year 
after the separation; — but then I gave up the 
hope entirely and for ever. But this very im- 
possibility of reunion seems to me at least a 
reason why, on all the few points of discussion 
which can arise between us, we should preserve 
the courtesies of life, and as much of its kind- 
ness as people who have never to meet may pre- 



LORD BYRON 



157 



serve perhaps more easily than nearer connec- 
tions. For my own part, I am violent, but not 
malignant; for only fresh provocations can 
awaken my resentments. To you, who are 
colder and more concentrated, I would just hint, 
that you may sometimes mistake the depth of a 
cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for 
duty. I assure you that I bear you now (what- 
ever I may have done) no resentment whatever. 
Remember, that if you have injured me in 
aught, this forgiveness is something; and that, 
if I have injured you, it is something more still, 
if it be true, as the moralists say, that the most 
offending are the least forgiving. 

Whether the offence has been solely on my 
side, or reciprocal, or on yours chiefly, I have 
ceased to reflect upon any but two things, — viz., 
that you are the mother of my child, and that we 
shall never meet again. I think if you also con- 
sider the two corresponding points with refer- 
ence to myself, it will be better for all three. 

Letters (1821) 



WILLIAM HAZLITT 

69. On the Fear of Death 

Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is 
to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an 
end. There was a time when we were not: this 
gives us no concern — why, then, should it 
trouble us that a time will come when we shall 
cease to be? I have no wish to have been alive 
a hundred years ago, or in the reign of Queen 
Anne : why should I regret and lay it so much to 
heart that I shall not be alive a hundred years 
hence, in the reign of I cannot tell whom? 

When Bickerstaff wrote his Essays I knew 
nothing of the subjects of them; nay, much later, 
and but the other day, as it were, in the begin- 
ning of the reign of George III., when Gold- 
smith, Johnson, Burke, used to meet at the 
Globe, when Garrick was in his glory, and Rey- 
nolds was over head and ears with his portraits, 
and Sterne brought out the volumes of Tristram 
Shandy year by year, it was without consulting 
me: I had not the slightest intimation of what 
158 



WILLIAM HAZLITT 



159 



was going on : the debates in the House of Com- 
mons on the American War, or the firing at 
Bunker's Hill, disturbed not me: yet I thought 
this no evil — I neither ate, drank, nor was merry, 
yet I did not complain : I had not then looked 
out into this breathing world, yet I was well; 
and the world did quite as well without me as I 
did without it! Why, then, should I make all 
this outcry about parting with it, and being no 
worse off than I was before ? There is nothing in 
the recollection that at a certain time we were 
not come into the world that " the gorge rises 
at " — why should we revolt at the idea that we 
must one day go out of it? To die is only to be 
as we were before we were born ; yet no one feels 
any remorse, or regret, or repugnance, in con- 
templating this last idea. It is rather a relief and 
disburthening of the mind : it seems to have been 
holiday-time with us then : we were not called to 
appear upon the stage of life, to wear robes or 
tatters, to laugh or cry, be hooted or applauded ; 
we had lain perdus all this while, snug, out of 
harm's way; and had slept out our thousands of 
centuries without wanting to be waked up ; at 
peace and free from care, in a long nonage, in a 



160 WILLIAM HAZLITT 

sleep deeper and calmer than that of infancy, 
wrapped in the softest and finest dust. And the 
worst that we dread is, after a short, fretful, 
feverish being, after vain hopes and idle fears, to 
sink to final repose again, and forget the troubled 
dream of life! ... Ye armed men, knights 
templars, that sleep in the stone aisles of that 
old Temple church, where all is silent above, 
and where a deeper silence reigns below (not 
broken by the pealing organ), are ye not con- 
tented where ye lie? Or would you come out of 
your long homes to go to the Holy War ? Or do 
ye complain that pain no longer visits you, that 
sickness has done its worst, that you have paid 
the last debt to nature, that you hear no more of 
the thickening phalanx of the foe, or your lady's 
waning love; and that while this ball of earth 
rolls its eternal round, no sound shall ever pierce 
through to disturb your lasting repose, fixed as 
the marble over your tombs, breathless as the 
grave that holds you ! 

Table Talk (1822) 



SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER 

70. Character of Lord Rossville 

Lord Rossville's character was one of those, 
whose traits, though minute, are as strongly 
marked as though they had been cast in a large 
mould. But, as not even the powers of the 
microscope can impart strength and beauty to 
the object it magnifies, so no biographer could 
have exaggerated into virtues the petty foibles 
of his mind. Yet the predominating qualities 
were such as often cast a false glory around their 
possessor — for the love of power and the desire 
of human applause were the engrossing princi- 
ples of his soul. In strong capacious minds, and 
in great situations, these incentives often pro- 
duce brilliant results ; but in a weak contracted 
mind, moving in the narrow sphere of domestic 
life, they could only circulate through the thou- 
sand little channels that tend to increase or im- 
pair domestic happiness. As he was not addicted 
to any particular vice, he considered himself as 
a man of perfect virtue; and having been, in 
some respects, very prosperous in his fortune, he 

161 



162 SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER 

was thoroughly satisfied that he was a person of 
the most consummate wisdom. With these ideas 
of himself, it is not surprising that he should 
have deemed it his bounden duty to direct and 
manage every man, woman, child, or animal, 
who came within his sphere, and that too in the 
most tedious and tormenting manner. Perhaps 
the most teasing point in his character was his 
ambition — the fatal ambition of thousands — to 
be thought an eloquent and impressive speaker; 
for this purpose, he always used ten times as 
many words as were necessary to express his 
meaning, and those too of the longest and strong- 
est description. Another of his tormenting pe- 
culiarities was his desire of explaining every- 
thing, by which he always perplexed and mysti- 
fied the simplest subject. Yet he had his good 
points, for he wished to see those around him 
happy, provided he was the dispenser of their 
happiness, and that they were happy precisely in 
the manner and degree he thought proper. In 
short Lord Rossville was a sort of petty benevo- 
lent tyrant; and any attempt to enlarge his soul, 
or open his understanding, would have been in 
vain. Indeed his mind was already full, as full 



SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER 163 

as it could hold, of little thoughts, little plans, 
little notions, little prejudices, little whims, and 
nothing short of regeneration could have made 
him otherwise. 

The Inheritance (1824), Ch. iii 



HENRY HALLAM 

71, The Revolution of 1688 

In the revolution of 1688 there was an unusual 
combination of favouring circumstances, and 
some of the most important, such as the king's 
sudden flight, not within prior calculation, which 
render it no precedent for other times and occa- 
sions in point of expediency, whatever it may be 
in point of justice. Resistance to tyranny by 
overt rebellion incurs not only the risks of fail- 
ure, but those of national impoverishment and 
confusion, of vindictive retaliation, and such ag- 
gressions, perhaps inevitable, on private right 
and liberty as render the name of revolution and 
its adherents odious. Those, on the other hand, 
who call in a powerful neighbour to protect them 
from domestic oppression, may too often expect 



164 HENRY HALLAM 

to realise the horse of the fable, and endure a 
subjection more severe, permanent and ignomin- 
ious, than what they shake off. But the revolu- 
tion effected by William III. united the inde- 
pendent character of a national act with the regu- 
larity and the coercion of anarchy which belong 
to a military invasion. The United Provinces 
were not such a foreign potentate as could put 
in jeopardy the independence of England; nor 
could his army have maintained itself against the 
inclinations of the kingdom, though it was suffi- 
cient to repress any turbulence that would natu- 
rally attend so extraordinary a crisis. Nothing 
was done by the multitude ; no new men, soldiers 
or demagogues, had their talents brought forward 
by this rapid and pacific revolution; it cost no 
blood, it violated no right, it was hardly to be 
traced in the course of justice; the formal and 
exterior character of the monarchy remained 
nearly the same in so complete a regeneration of 
its spirit. Few nations can hope to ascend up to 
the sphere of a just and honourable liberty, es- 
pecially when long use has made the track of 
obedience familiar, and they have learned to 
move as it were only by the clank of the chain, 



HENRY HALLAM 165 

with so little toil and hardship. We reason too 
exclusively from this peculiar instance of 1688, 
when we hail the fearful struggles of other revo- 
lutions with a sanguine and confident sympathy. 
Nor is the only error upon this side. For, as if 
the inveterate and cankerous ills of a common- 
wealth could be extirpated with no loss and suf- 
fering, we are often prone to abandon the popu- 
lar cause in agitated nations with as much fickle- 
ness as we embraced it, when we find that intem- 
perance, irregularity, and confusion, from which 
great revolutions are very seldom exempt. These 
are indeed so much their usual attendants, the 
re-action of a self-deceived multitude is so prob- 
able a consequence, the general prospect of suc- 
cess in most cases so precarious, that wise and 
good men are more likely to hesitate too long, 
than to rush forward too eagerly. Yet, " what- 
ever be the cost of this noble liberty, we must be 
content to pay it to Heaven." 

The Constitutional History of England (1827), Ch. xiv 



THOMAS MOORE 

72. Lord Byron in 1823 

While thus at this period, more remarkably 
than at any other during his life, the unparalleled 
versatility of his genius was unfolding itself, 
those quick, cameleon-like changes of which his 
character, too, was capable were, during the 
same time, most vividly, and in strongest con- 
trast, drawn out. To the world, and more es- 
pecially to England, — the scene at once of his 
glories and his wrongs, — he presented himself 
in no other aspect than that of a stern, haughty 
misanthrope, self-banished from the fellowship 
of men and, most of all, from that of English- 
men. The more genial and beautiful inspirations 
of his muse were, in this point of view, looked 
upon but as lucid intervals between the parox- 
ysms of an inherent malignancy of nature; and 
even the laughing effusions of his wit and humour 
got credit for no other aim than that which 
Swift boasted of as the end of all his own labours. 
" to vex the world rather than divert it." 

How totally all this differed from the Byron 
166 



THOMAS MOORE 167 

of the social hour, they who lived in familiar in- 
tercourse with him may be safely left to tell. 
The sort of ferine reputation which he had ac- 
quired for himself abroad prevented numbers, of 
course, of his countrymen, whom he would have 
most cordially welcomed, from seeking his ac- 
quaintance. But, as it was, no English gentle- 
man ever approached him, with the common 
forms of introduction, that did not come away 
at once surprised and charmed by the kind cour- 
tesy and facility of his manners, the unpretend- 
ing play of his conversation, and, on a nearer in- 
tercourse, the frank, youthful spirits, to the flow 
of which he gave way with such a zest, as even 
to deceive some of those who best knew him into 
the impression, that gaiety was after all the true 
bent of his disposition. 

To these contrasts which he presented, as 
viewed publicly and privately, is to be added 
also the fact, that, while braving the world's ban 
so boldly, and asserting man's right to think for 
himself with a freedom and even daringness un- 
equalled, the original shyness of his nature never 
ceased to hang about him, and while at a dis- 
tance he was regarded as a sort of autocrat in 



1 68 THOMAS MOORE 

intellect, revelling in all the confidence of his 
own great powers, a somewhat nearer observa- 
tion enabled a common acquaintance at Venice 
to detect, under all this, traces of that self-dis- 
trust and bashfulness which had marked him as 
a boy, and which never entirely forsook him 
through the whole of his career. 

Life of Lord Byron (1830), Vol. ii 



MARY RUSSELL MITFORD 

J$. A Domestic Episode 

Ah ! here is a shriller din mingling with the 
small artillery — a shriller and more continuous. 
We are not yet arrived within sight of Master 
Weston's cottage, snugly hidden behind a clump 
of elms; but we are in full hearing of Dame 
Weston's tongue, raised, as usual, to scolding 
pitch. The Westons are new arrivals in our 
neighbourhood, and the first thing heard of them 
was a complaint from the wife to our magistrate 
of her husband's beating her; it was a regular 
charge of assault — an information in full form. 
A most piteous case did Dame Weston make of 



MARY RUSSELL MITFORD 169 

it, softening her voice for the nonce into a shrill, 
tremulous whine, and exciting the mingled pity 
and anger — pity towards herself, anger towards 
her husband — of the whole female world, pitiful 
and indignant as the female world is wont to be 
on such occasions. Every woman in the parish 
railed at Master Weston ; and poor Master Wes- 
ton was summoned to attend the bench on the 
ensuing Saturday, and answer the charge; and 
such was the clamour abroad and at home, that 
the unlucky culprit, terrified at the sound of a 
warrant and a constable, ran away, and was not 
heard of for a fortnight. 

At the end of that time he was discovered, and 
brought to the bench; and Dame Weston again 
told her story, and, as before, on the full cry. 
She had no witnesses, and the bruises of which 
she had made complaint had disappeared, and 
there were no women present to make common 
cause with the sex. Still, however, the general 
feeling was against Master Weston ; and it would 
have gone hard with him when he was called in, 
if a most unexpected witness had not risen up in 
his favour. His wife had brought in her arms 
a little girl about eighteen months old, partly, 



lyo MARY RUSSELL MITFORD 

perhaps, to move compassion in her favour; for 
a woman with a child in her arms is always an 
object that excites kind feelings. The little girl 
had looked shy and frightened, and had been as 
quiet as a lamb during her mother's examination ; 
but she no sooner saw her father, from whom 
she had been a fortnight separated, than she 
clapped her hands, and laughed, and cried, 
" Daddy ! daddy ! " and sprang into his arms, and 
hung round his neck, and covered him with 
kisses — again shouting, " Daddy, come home ! 
daddy ! daddy ! " — and finally nestled her little 
head in his bosom, with a fulness of contentment, 
an assurance of tenderness and protection, such 
as no wife-beating tyrant ever did inspire, or 
ever could inspire, since the days of King Solo- 
mon. Our magistrates acted in the very spirit 
of the Jewish monarch: they accepted the evi- 
dence of nature, and dismissed the complaint. 
And subsequent events have fully justified their 
decision; Mistress Weston proving not only re- 
nowned for the feminine accomplishment of 
scolding (tongue-banging, it is called in our 
parts, a compound word which deserves to be 
Greek), but is actually herself addicted to ad- 



MARY RUSSELL MITFORD 171 

ministering the conjugal discipline, the infliction 
of which she was pleased to impute to her luck- 
less husband. 

Our Village (1st Coll. Edit., 1830) 



THOMAS CARLYLE 

74. The Fall of the Bastille 

What shall De Launay do? One thing only 
De Launay could have done: what he said he 
would do. Fancy him sitting, from the first, with 
lighted taper, within arm's length of the Pow- 
der-Magazine ; motionless, like old Roman Sena- 
tor, or Bronze Lamp-holder; coldly apprising 
Thuriot, and all men, by a slight motion of his 
eye, what his resolution was: — Harmless he sat 
there, while unharmed; but the King's Fortress, 
meanwhile, could, might, would, or should in 
no wise be surrendered, save to the King's Mes- 
senger: one old man's life is worthless, so it be 
lost with honour ; but think, ye brawling canaille, 
how will it be when a whole Bastille springs sky- 
ward! — In such statuesque, taper-holding atti- 
tude, one fancies De Launay might have left 



172 THOMAS CARLYLE 

Thuriot, the red Clerks of the Basoche, Cure of 
Saint-Stephen and all the tagrag-and-bobtail of 
the world, to work their will. 

And yet, withal, he could not do it. Hast thou 
considered how each man's heart is so tremu- 
lously responsive to the hearts of all men; hast 
thou noted how omnipotent is the very sound of 
many men? How their shriek of indignation 
palsies the strong soul ; their howl of contumely 
withers with unfelt pangs? The Ritter Gluck 
confessed that the ground-tone of the noblest 
passage, in one of his noblest Operas, was the 
voice of the Populace he had heard at Vienna, 
crying to their Kaiser: Bread! Bread! Great is 
the combined voice of men ; the utterance of their 
instincts, which are truer than their thoughts: 
it is the greatest a man encounters, among the 
sounds and shadows which make up this World 
of Time. He who can resist that, has his foot- 
ing somewhere beyond Time. De Launay could 
not do it. Distracted, he hovers between two; 
hopes in the middle of despair; surrenders not 
his Fortress; declares that he will blow it up, 
seizes torches to blow it up, and does not blow 
it. Unhappy old De Launay, it is the death- 



THOMAS CARLYLE 



173 



agony of thy Bastille and thee! Jail, Jailoring 
and Jailor, all three, such as they may have been, 
must finish. 

For four hours now has the World-Bedlam 
roared : call it the World-Chimsera, blowing fire ! 
The poor Invalides have sunk under their battle- 
ments, or rise only with reversed muskets : they 
have made a white flag of napkins ; go beating 
the chamade, or seeming to beat, for one can 
hear nothing. The very Swiss at the Portcullis 
look weary of firing; disheartened in the fire- 
deluge: a porthole at the drawbridge is opened, 
as by one that would speak. See Huissier Mail- 
lard, the shifty man! On his plank, swinging 
over the abyss of that stone Ditch ; plank resting 
on parapet, balanced by weight of Patriots, — he 
hovers perilous : such a Dove towards such an 
Ark! Deftly, thou shifty Usher; one man al- 
ready fell; and lies smashed, far down there, 
against the masonry ! Usher Maillard falls not : 
deftly, unerring he walks, with outspread palm. 
The Swiss holds a paper through his porthole ; 
the shifty Usher snatches it, and returns. Terms 
of surrender : Pardon, immunity to all ! Are 
they accepted? — " Foi d'officier, On the word of 



174 THOMAS CARLYLE 

an officer/' answers half-pay Hulin, — or half- 
pay Elie, for men do not agree on it, — " they 
are ! " Sinks the drawbridge, — Usher Maillard 
bolting it when down; rushes-in the living del- 
uge: the Bastille is fallen! Victoire! La Bastille 
est prise! 

The French Revolution (1837), Bk. v., Ch. vi 



JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART 

75. Sunday Evenings at Sir Walter Scott 9 s 

The sound of music — (even, I suspect, of any 
sacred music but psalm-singing) — would be con- 
sidered indecorous in the streets of Edinburgh 
on a Sunday night ; so, upon the occasions I am 
speaking of, the harp was silent, and Otterburne 
and The Bonny House of Airlie must needs be 
dispensed with. To make amends, after tea in 
the drawing-room, Scott usually read some 
favourite author, for the amusement of his little 
circle; or Erskine, Ballantyne, or Terry did so, 
at his request He himself read aloud high 
poetry with far greater simplicity, depth, and 
effect, than any other man I ever heard ; and, in 



JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART 175 

Macbeth or Julius Csesar, or the like, I doubt if 
Kemble could have been more impressive. Yet 
the changes of intonation were so gently man- 
aged, that he contrived to set the different inter- 
locutors clearly before us, without the least ap- 
proach to theatrical artifice. Not so the others 
I have mentioned: they all read cleverly and 
agreeably, but with the decided trickery of stage 
recitation. To them he usually gave the book 
when it was a comedy, or, indeed, any other 
drama than Shakespeare's or Joanna Baillie's. 
Dryden's Fables, Johnson's two Satires, and cer- 
tain detached scenes of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
especially that in the Lover's Progress, where the 
ghost of the musical innkeeper makes his ap- 
pearance, were frequently selected. Of the 
poets, his contemporaries, however, there was not 
one that did not come in for his part. In Words- 
worth, his pet pieces were, I think, the Song for 
Brougham Castle, the Laodamia, and some of 
the early sonnets: — in Southey, Queen Orraca, 
Fernando Ramirez, the Lines on the Holly Tree 
— and, of his larger poems, the Thalaba. Crabbe 
was perhaps, next to Shakespeare, the standing 
resource; but in those days Byron was pouring 



176 JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART 

out his spirit fresh and full ; and, if a new piece 
from his hand had appeared, it was sure to be 
read by Scott the Sunday evening afterwards, 
and that with such delighted emphasis, as 
showed how completely the elder bard had kept 
all his enthusiasm for poetry at the pitch of 
youth, all his admiration of genius free, pure, 
and unstained by the least drop of literary jeal- 
ousy. Rare and beautiful example of a happily 
constituted and virtuously disciplined mind and 
character ! 

Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott \ Bart. (1 837), 
Vol. iv., Ch. v 

CHARLES DICKENS 
76. My, Jingle and Job Trotter take Leave 

" Mr. Nuprins/' said the elder lady, " this is 
not a fit conversation for the servants to over- 
hear. Let these wretches be removed. ,, 

" Certainly, my dear," said Mr. Nupkins. 
" Muzzle ! " 

" Your worship." 

" Open the front door." 

" Yes, your worship." 



CHARLES DICKENS 



177 



" Leave the house ! " said Mr. Nupkins, wav- 
ing his hand emphatically. 

Jingle smiled, and moved towards the door. 

" Stay ! " said Mr. Pickwick. 

Jingle stopped. 

" I might," said Mr. Pickwick, " have taken a 
much greater revenge for the treatment I have 
experienced at your hands, and that of your 
hypocritical friend there. " 

Here Job Trotter bowed with great politeness, 
and laid his hand upon his heart. 

" I say," said Mr. Pickwick, growing gradu- 
ally angry, " that I might have taken a greater 
revenge, but I content myself with exposing 
you, which I consider a duty I owe to society. 
This is a leniency, sir, which I hope you will re- 
member." 

When Mr. Pickwick arrived at this point, Job 
Trotter, with facetious gravity, applied his hand 
to his ear, as if desirous not to lose a syllable 
he uttered. 

u And I have only to add, sir," said Mr. Pick- 
wick, now thoroughly angry, " that I consider 
you a rascal, and a — a ruffian — and — and worse 
than any man I ever saw, or heard of, except 



178 CHARLES DICKENS 

that pious and sanctified vagabond in the mul- 
berry livery." 

" Ha ! ha ! " said Jingle, " good fellow, Pick- 
wick — fine heart — stout old boy — but must not 
be passionate — bad thing, very — bye, bye — see 
you again some day — keep up your spirits — now, 
Job— trot!" 

With these words, Mr. Jingle stuck on his 
hat in the old fashion, and strode out of the 
room. Job Trotter paused, looked round, smiled, 
and then with a bow of mock solemnity to Mr. 
Pickwick, and a wink to Mr. Weller, the auda- 
cious slyness of which baffles all description, fol- 
lowed the footsteps of his hopeful master. 

" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Weller was 
following. 

" Sir." 

" Stay here." 

Mr. Weller seemed uncertain. 

" Stay here," repeated Mr. Pickwick. 

" Mayn't I polish that 'ere Job off, in the front 
garden ? " said Mr. Weller. 

"Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick. 

" Mayn't I kick him out o' the gate, sir ? " 
said Mr. Weller. 



CHARLES DICKENS 179 

" Not on any account," replied his master. 

For the first time since his engagement, Mr. 
Weller looked, for a moment, discontented and 
unhappy. But his countenance immediately 
cleared up; for the wily Mr. Muzzle, by con- 
cealing himself behind the street door, and 
rushing violently out, at the right instant, con- 
trived with great dexterity to overturn both Mr. 
Jingle and his attendant, down the flight of steps, 
into the American aloe tubs that stood beneath. 

The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (1837), Ch. xxv 



JOHN RUSKIN 

JJ. A Plea for Living Artists 

And if, in the application of these principles, in 
spite of my endeavour to render it impartial, the 
feeling and fondness which I have for some 
works of modern art escape me sometimes where 
it should not, let it be pardoned as little more 
than a fair counterbalance to that peculiar ven- 
eration with which the work of the old master, 
associated as it has ever been in our ears with 
the expression of whatever is great or perfect, 



180 JOHN RUSKIN 

must be usually regarded by the reader. I do 
not say that this veneration is wrong, nor that 
we should be less attentive to the repeated words 
of time : but let us not forget that if honour be 
for the dead, gratitude can only be for the living. 
He who has once stood beside the grave, to look 
back upon the companionship which has been 
for ever closed, feeling how impotent there are 
the wild love or the keen sorrow, to give one 
instant's pleasure to the pulseless heart, or 
atone in the lowest measure to the departed 
spirit for the hour of unkindness, will scarcely 
for the future incur that debt to the heart, which 
can only be discharged to the dust. But the 
lesson which men receive as individuals, they 
do not learn as nations. Again and again they 
have seen their noblest descend into the grave, 
and have thought it enough to garland the tomb- 
stone when they had not crowned the brow, and 
to pay the honour to the ashes which they had 
denied to the spirit. Let it not displease them 
that they are bidden, amidst the tumult and the 
dazzle of their busy life, to listen for the few 
voices, and watch for the few lamps, which God 
has toned and lighted to charm and to guide 



JOHN RUSKIN 181 

.them, that they may not learn their sweetness 
by their silence, nor their light by their decay. 

Modern Painters (1843), Ch. i 



ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE 

78. An Englishman in the Desert 

I can understand the sort of amazement of the 
Orientals at the scantiness of the retinue with 
which an Englishman passes the Desert, for I 
was somewhat struck myself when I saw one 
of my countrymen making his way across the 
wilderness in this simple style. At first there 
was a mere moving speck in the horizon. My 
party, of course, became all alive with excite- 
ment, and there were many surmises. Soon it 
appeared that three laden camels were approach- 
ing, and that two of them carried riders. In a 
little while we saw that one of the riders wore 
the European dress, and at last the travellers 
w r ere pronounced to be an English gentleman and 
his servant. By their side there were a couple, I 
think, of Arabs on foot, and this was the whole 
party. 



1 82 ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE 

You — you love sailing — in returning from a 
cruise to the English coast, you see often enough 
a fisherman's humble boat far away from all 
shores, with an ugly black sky above, and an 
angry sea beneath ; you watch the grisly old 
man at the helm carrying his craft with strange 
skill through the turmoil of waters, and the boy, 
supple-limbed, yet weather-worn already, and 
with steady eyes that look through the blast; 
you see him understanding commandments from 
the jerk of his father's white eyebrow — now be- 
laying, and now letting go — now scrunching 
himself down into mere ballast, or bailing out 
Death with a pipkin. Stale enough is the sight, 
and yet when I see it I always stare anew, and 
with a kind of Titanic exultation, because that 
a poor boat, with the brain of a man and the 
hands of a boy on board, can match herself so 
bravely against black Heaven and Ocean. Well, 
so when you have travelled for days and days 
over an Eastern Desert without meeting the 
likeness of a human being, and then at last see 
an English shooting- jacket, and his servant 
come listlessly slouching along- from out the 
forward horizon, you stare at the wide unpro- 



ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE 



183 



portion between this slender company and the 
boundless plains of sand through which they 
are keeping their way. 

Eothen (1844), Ch. xvii 

CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

79. Jane Eyre parts from her Cousins 

Mr. Rochester had given me but one week's 
leave of absence : yet a month elapsed before I 
quitted Gateshead. I wished to leave immedi- 
ately after the funeral ; but Georgiana entreated 
me to stay till she could get off to London: 
whither she was now at last invited by her uncle, 
Mr. Gibson ; who had come down to direct his 
sister's interment, and settle the family affairs. 
Georgiana said she dreaded being left alone with 
Eliza ; from her she got neither sympathy in her 
dejection, support in her tears, nor aid in her 
preparations ; so I bore with her feeble-minded 
quailings, and selfish lamentations, as well as I 
could, and did my best in sewing for her and 
packing her dresses. It is true, that while I 
worked, she would idle; and I thought to my- 
self, " If you and I were destined to live always 



184 CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

together, cousin, we would commence matters 
on a different footing. I should not settle tamely 
down into being the forbearing party ; I should 
assign you your share of labour, and compel you 
to accomplish it, or else it should be left undone : 
I should insist, also, on your keeping some of 
those drawling, half-insincere complaints hushed 
in your own breast. It is only because our con- 
nection happens to be very transitory, and comes 
at a peculiarly mournful season, that I consent 
thus to render it so patient and compliant on 
my part." 

At last I saw Georgiana off; but now it was 
Eliza's turn to request me to stay another week. 
Her plans required all her time and attention, 
she said: she was about to depart for some un- 
known bourne; and all day long she stayed in 
her own room, her door bolted within, filling 
trunks, emptying drawers, burning papers, and 
holding no communication with any one. She 
wished me to look after the house, to see callers, 
and answer notes of condolence. 

One morning she told me I was at liberty. 
" And," she added, " I am obliged to you for 
your valuable services and discreet conduct! 



CHARLOTTE BRONTE 185 

There is some difference between living with 
such a one as you, and with Georgiana : you per- 
form your own part in life, and burden no one. 
To-morrow/' she continued, " I set out for the 
Continent. I shall take up my abode in a re- 
ligious house, near Lisle — a nunnery you would 
call it: there I shall be quiet and unmolested. 
I shall devote myself for a time to the examina- 
tion of the Roman Catholic dogmas, and to a 
careful study of the workings of their system; 
if I find it to be, as I half suspect it is, the 
one best calculated to ensure the doing of all 
things decently and in order, I shall embrace 
the tenets of Rome and probably take the 
veil/' 

I neither expressed surprise at this resolution 
nor attempted to dissuade her from it. " The 
vocation will fit you to a hair/' I thought: 
" much good may it do you ! " 

When we parted, she said : " Good-bye, cousin 
Jane Eyre; I wish you well: you have some 
sense." 

I then returned : " You are not without sense, 
cousin Eliza; but what you have, I suppose in 
another year will be walled up alive in a French 



l86 CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

convent. However, it is not my business, and so 
it suits you — I don't much care." 

" You are in the right," said she : and with 
these words we each went our separate way. As 
I shall not have occasion to refer either to her 
or her sister again, I may as well mention here, 
that Georgiana made an advantageous match 
with a wealthy worn-out man of fashion; and 
that Eliza actually took the veil, and is at this 
day superior of the convent where she passed the 
period of her novitiate : and which she endowed 
with her fortune. 

Jane Eyre (1847), Vol. ii., Ch. vii 



EMILY JANE BRONTE 
80. The End of the Story 

"They are going to the Grange, then?" I said. 

" Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, " as soon as they 
are married, and that will be on New Year's 
day." 

"And who will live here then?" 

" Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and 
perhaps a lad to keep him company. They will 



EMILY JANE BRONTE 187 

live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up." 

" For the use of such ghosts as choose to in- 
habit it," I observed. 

" No, Mr. Lockwood," said Nelly, shaking 
her head. " I believe the dead are at peace, but it 
is not right to speak of them with levity." 

At that moment the garden gate swung to; 
the ramblers were returning. 

" They are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, 
watching their approach through the window. 
" Together, they would brave Satan and all his 
legions." 

As they stepped on to the door-stones, and 
halted to take a last look at the moon — or, more 
correctly, at each other by her light — I felt irre- 
sistibly impelled to escape them again ; and, 
pressing a remembrance into the hand of Mrs. 
Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my 
rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen as they 
opened the house-door: and so should have 
confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his fellow- 
servants' gay indiscretions, had he not fortu- 
nately recognised me for a respectable character 
by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet. 

My walk home was lengthened by a diversion 



1 88 EMILY JANE BRONTE 

in the direction of the kirk. When beneath its 
walls I perceived decay had made progress, even 
in seven months — many a window showed black 
gaps deprived of glass; and slates jutted off, 
here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, 
to be gradually worked off in coming autumn 
storms. 

I sought, and soon discovered, the three 
head-stones on the slope next the moor — the 
middle one grey, and half buried in heath; 
Edgar Lipton's only harmonised by the turf and 
moss creeping up its foot ; Heathcliff's still bare. 

I lingered around them under that benign 
sky : watched the moths fluttering among the 
heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind 
breathing through the grass, and wondered 
how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers 
for the sleepers in that quiet earth. 

Wuthering Heights (1847), Ch. xxxiv 

LORD MACAULAY 

81. St. Peter's Chapel in the Tower 

In the meantime many handkerchiefs were 
dipped in the Duke's blood; for, by a large part 



LORD MACAULAY 189 

of the multitude he was regarded as a martyr 
who had died for the Protestant religion. The 
head and body were placed in a coffin covered 
with black velvet, and were laid privately under 
the communion table of St. Peter's Chapel in the 
Tower. Within four years the pavement of that 
chancel was again disturbed, and hard by the 
remains of Monmouth were laid the remains of 
Jeffreys. In truth there is no sadder spot on 
the earth than that little cemetery. Death is 
there associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey 
and Saint Paul's, with genius and virtue, with 
public veneration and imperishable renown; not, 
as in our humblest churches and churchyards, 
with everything that is most endearing in social 
and domestic charities ; but with whatever is 
darkest in human nature and in human destiny, 
with the savage triumph of implacable enemies, 
with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cow- 
ardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen 
greatness and of blighted fame. Thither have 
been carried, through successive ages, by the 
rude hands of gaolers, without one mourner 
following, the bleeding relics of men who had 
been the captains of armies, the leaders of parties, 



igo LORD MACAULAY 

the oracles of senates, and the ornaments of 
courts. Thither was borne, before the window 
where Jane Grey was praying, the mangled 
corpse of Guilford Dudley. Edward Seymour, 
Duke of Somerset, and Protector of the realm, 
reposes there by the brother whom he murdered. 
There has mouldered away the headless trunk of 
John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester and Cardinal 
of Saint Vitalis, a man worthy to have lived in a 
better age, and to have died in a better cause. 
There are laid John Dudley, Duke of Northum- 
berland, Lord High Admiral, and Thomas 
Cromwell, Earl of Essex, Lord High Treasurer. 
There, too, is another Essex, on whom nature 
and fortune had lavished all their bounties in 
vain, and whom valour, grace, genius, royal 
favour, popular applause, conducted to an early 
and ignominious doom. Not far off sleep two 
chiefs of the great house of Howard, Thomas, 
fourth Duke of Norfolk, and Philip, eleventh 
Earl of Arundel. Here and there, among the 
thick graves of unquiet and aspiring statesmen, 
lie more delicate sufferers; Margaret of Salis- 
bury, the last of the proud name of Plantagenet, 
and those two fair Queens who perished by the 



LORD MACAULAY 191 

jealous rage of Henry. Such was the dust with 
which the dust of Monmouth mingled. 

History of England (1848), Ch. v 



LORD LYTTON 

82. How a Child's Name was chosen 

" My love," said my mother, the night before 
this Hegira, looking up from her work — " my 
love, there is one thing you have quite forgot to 
settle — I beg pardon for disturbing you, but it 
is important ! — baby's name : shan't we call him 
Augustine ? " 

" Augustine/' said my father dreamily ; " why, 
that name's mine." 

" And you would like your boy's to be the 
same ? " 

" No," said my father, rousing himself. " No- 
body would know which was which. I should 
catch myself learning the Latin accidence or 
playing at marbles. I should never know my 
own identity, and Mrs. Primmins would be 
giving me pap." 

My mother smiled; and putting her hand, 



192 



LORD LYTTON 



which was a very pretty one, on my father's 
shoulder, and looking at him tenderly, she said, 
" There's no fear of mistaking you for any other, 
even your son, dearest. Still, if you prefer 
another name, what shall it be ? " 

" Samuel," said my father, " Dr. Parr's name 
is Samuel." 

" La, my love ! Samuel is the ugliest name"— 

My father did not hear the exclamation, he 
was again deep in his books; presently he 
started up. " Barnes says Homer is Solomon. 
Read Omeros backwards, in the Hebrew man- 
ner "— 

" Yes, my love," interrupted my mother. 
" But baby's Christian name ? " 

" Omeros — Soremo — Solemo — Solomo ! " 

" Solomo ! shocking ! " said my mother. 

" Shocking indeed ! " echoed my father ; " an 
outrage to common sense." Then, after glancing 
again over his books, he broke out musingly — 
" But, after all, it is nonsense to suppose that 
Homer was not settled till his time." 

" Whose ? " asked my mother mechanically. 

My father lifted up his finger. 

My mother continued, after a short pause, 



LORD LYTTON 193 

" Arthur is a pretty name. Then there's William 
— Henry — Charles — Robert. What shall it be, 
lave?* 

" Pisistratus? " said my father (who had hung 
fire till then), in a tone of contempt — " Pisis- 
tratus indeed ! " 

" Pisistratus ! a very fine name," said my 
mother joyfully — " Pisistratus Caxton. Thank 
you, my love ; Pisistratus it shall be." 

" Do you contradict me ? Do you side with 
Wolf and Heyne, and that pragmatical fellow, 
Vico? Do you mean to say that the Rhapso- 
dists "— 

" No indeed," interrupted my mother. " My 
dear, you frighten me." 

My father sighed, and threw himself back in 
his chair. My mother took courage and re- 
sumed. 

" Pisistratus is a long name too ! Still, one 
could call him Sisty." 

" Siste, Viator," muttered my father ; " that's 
trite!" 

" No, Sisty by itself — short. Thank you, my 
dear." 

Four days afterwards, on his return from the 



194 



LORD LYTTON 



book sale, to my father's inexpressible bewilder- 
ment, he was informed that " Pisistratus was 
growing the very image of him/' 

When at length the good man was made 
thoroughly aware of the fact that his son and 
heir boasted a name so memorable in history as 
that borne by the enslaver of Athens, and the 
disputed arranger of Homer, and it was asserted 
to be a name that he himself had suggested, he 
was as angry as so mild a man could be. " But 
it is infamous ! " he exclaimed. " Pisistratus 
christened ! Pisistratus ! who lived six hundred 
years before Christ was born. Good heavens, 
madam ! You have made me the father of an 
anachronism." 

My mother burst into tears. But the evil was 
irremediable. An anachronism I was, and an 
anachronism I must continue to the end of the 
chapter. 

The Caxtons (1849), Pt - *•> Ch - "* 



JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT 

83. A Reminiscence of Shelley 

I was returning home one night to Hampstead 
after the opera. As I approached the door, I 
heard strange and alarming shrieks, mixed with 
the voice of a man. The next day, it was reported 
by the gossips that Mr. Shelley, no Christian 
(for it was he who was there), had brought 
some " very strange female " into the house, no 
better, of course, than she ought to be. The 
real Christian had puzzled them. Shelley, in 
coming to our house that^night, had found a 
woman lying near the top of the hill, in fits. 
It was a fierce winter night, with snow upon the 
ground; and winter loses nothing of its fierce- 
ness at Hampstead. My friend, always the 
promptest as well as the most pitying on these 
occasions, knocked at the first houses he could 
reach, in order to have the woman taken in. 
The invariable answer was, that they could not 
do it. He asked for an outhouse to put her in, 
while he went for a doctor. Impossible ! In 
vain he assured them she was no impostor. 

195 



196 JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT 

They would not dispute the point with him; 
but doors were closed, and windows were shut 
down. Had he lit upon worthy Mr. Park, the 
philologist, he would assuredly have come, in 
spite of his Calvinism. But he lived too far off. 
Had he lit upon my friend, Armitage Brown, 
who lived on another side of the heath ; or on 
his friend and neighbour, Dilke; they would, 
either of them, have jumped up from amidst 
their books or their bed-clothes, and have gone 
out with him. But the paucity of Christians 
is astonishing, considering the number of them. 
Time flies ; the poor woman is in convulsions ; 
her son, a young man, lamenting over her. At 
last my friend sees a carriage driving up to a 
house at a little distance. The knock is given; 
the warm door opens ; servants and lights pour 
forth. Now, thought he, is the time. He puts 
on his best address, which anybody might recog- 
nise for that of the highest gentleman as well 
as of an interesting individual, and plants him- 
self in the way of an elderly person, who is step- 
ping out of the carriage with his family. He 
tells his story. They only press on the faster. 
" Will you go and see her? " " No, sir; there's 



JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT 197 

no necessity for that sort of thing, depend on it. 
Impostors swarm everywhere: the thing cannot 
be done; sir, your conduct is extraordinary." 
" Sir," cried Shelley, assuming a very different 
manner, and forcing the flourishing householder 
to stop out of astonishment, " I am sorry to say 
that your conduct is not extraordinary ; and if 
my own seems to amaze you, I will tell you 
something which may amaze you a little more, 
and I hope will frighten you. It is such men as 
you who madden the spirits and patience of the 
poor and wretched ; and if ever a convulsion 
comes in this country (which is very probable), 
recollect what I tell you : — you will have your 
house, that you refuse to put the miserable 
woman into, burnt over your head." " God bless 
me, sir ! Dear me, sir ! " exclaimed the poor 
frightened man, and fluttered into his mansion. 
The woman was then brought to our house, 
which was at some distance, and down a bleak 
path; and Shelley and her son were obliged to 
hold her till the doctor could arrive. It appeared 
that she had been attending this son in London, 
on a criminal charge made against him, the 
agitation of which had thrown her into the fits 



T 9 8 JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT 

on her return. The doctor said that she would 
have perished, had she lain there a short time 
longer. The next day my friend sent mother 
and son comfortably home to Hendon, where 
they were known, and whence they returned 
him thanks full of gratitude. 

Autobiography (1850), Ch. xv 

GEORGE BORROW 

84. A Gipsy on Life and Death 

" What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petu- 
lengro ? " said I, as I sat down beside him. 

" My opinion of death, brother, is much the 
same as that in the old song of Pharaoh, which 
I have heard my grandam sing: — 

' Cana marel o manus chivios ande puv, 
Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi/ 

When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and 
his wife and child sorrow over him. If he has 
neither wife nor child, then his father and 
mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone in 
the world, why, then, he is cast into the earth, 
and there is an end of the matter." 



GEORGE BORROW 



199 



" And do you think that is the end of a man? " 

" There's an end of him, brother, more's the 
pity." 

" Why do you say so ? " 

" Life is sweet, brother." 

"Do you think so?" 

" Think so ! There's night and day, brother, 
both sweet things ; sun, moon and stars, brother, 
all sweet things ; there's likewise a wind on the 
heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would 
wish to die ? " 

" I would wish to die " 

" You talk like a gorgio — which is the same 
as talking like a fool — were you a Romany Chal 
you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed ! A 
Romany Chal would wish to live for ever ! " 

"In sickness, Jasper?" 

" There's the sun and stars, brother." 

" In blindness, Jasper ! " 

" There's the wind on the heath, brother ; if 
I could only feel that, I would gladly live for 
ever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put 
on the gloves ; and I'll try to make you feel what 
a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother ! " 

Lavengro (18 51), Vol. L, Ch. xxv 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 

85. JEsop and Rhodope 

Rhodope. But, ^Esop, you should never say the 
thing that is untrue. 

Msop. We say and do and look no other all 
our lives. 

Rhodope. Do we never know better? 

Msop. Yes ; when we cease to please, and to 
wish it ; when death is settling the features, and 
the cerements are ready to render them un- 
changeable. 

Rhodope. Alas ! alas ! 

JEsop. Breathe, Rhodope, breathe again 
those painless sighs : they belong to thy vernal 
season. May thy summer of life be calm, thy 
autumn calmer, and thy winter never come. 

Rhodope. I must die then earlier. 

2Esop. Laodameia died; Helen died; Leda, 
the beloved of Jupiter, went before. It is better 
to repose in the earth betimes than to sit up late ; 
better, than to cling pertinaciously to what we 
feel crumbling under us, and to protract an 
inevitable fall. We may enjoy the present while 

200 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 201 

we are insensible of infirmity and decay ; but the 
present, like a note in music, is nothing but as it 
appertains to what is past and what is to come. 
There are no fields of amaranth on this side of 
the grave : there are no voices, O Rhodope ! 
that are not soon mute, however tuneful : there is 
no name, with whatever emphasis of passionate 
love repeated, of which the echo is not faint at 
last. 

Imaginary Conversations of Greeks and Romans (1853) 



MRS. GASKELL 

86. Captain Brown 

" Elegant economy ! " How naturally one falls 
back into the phraseology of Cranford ! There, 
economy was always " elegant/' and money- 
spending always " vulgar and ostentatious ; " a 
sort of sour grapeism which made us very peace- 
ful and satisfied. I never shall forget the dismay 
felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live 
at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being 
poor — not in a whisper to an intimate friend, 
the doors and windows being previously closed, 



202 MRS. GASKELL 

but in the public street ! in a loud military voice ! 
alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking 
a particular house. The ladies of Cranford 
were already rather moaning over the invasion 
of their territories by a man and a gentleman. 
He was a half-pay captain, and had obtained 
some situation on a neighbouring railroad, which 
had been vehemently petitioned against by the 
little town; and if, in addition to his masculine 
gender, and his connection with the obnoxious 
railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being 
poor — why, then, indeed, he must be sent to 
Coventry. Death was as true and as common 
as poverty; yet people never spoke about that 
loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be 
mentioned to ears polite. We had tacitly agreed 
to ignore that any with whom we associated on 
terms of visiting equality could ever be pre- 
vented by poverty from doing anything that they 
wished. If we walked to or from a party, it 
was because the night was so fine, or the air so 
refreshing; not because sedan chairs were ex- 
pensive. If we wore prints instead of summer 
silks, it was because we preferred a washing 
material ; and so on, till we blinded ourselves to 



MRS. GASKELL 203 

the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of 
very moderate means. Of course, then, we did 
not know what to make of a man who could 
speak of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, 
somehow, Captain Brown made himself respected 
in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite of all 
resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised to 
hear his opinions quoted as authority at a visit 
which I paid to Cranford about a year after he 
had settled in the town. My own friends had 
been among the bitterest opponents of any pro- 
posal to visit the Captain and his daughters, only 
twelve months before ; and now he was even 
admitted in the tabooed hours before twelve. 
True, it was to discover the cause of a smoking 
chimney, before the fire was lighted; but still 
Captain Brow T n walked upstairs, nothing daunted, 
spoke in a voice too large for the room, and 
joked quite in the way of a tame man about the 
house. He had been blind to all the small slights, 
and omissions of trivial ceremonies, with which 
he had been received. He had been friendly, 
though the Cranford ladies had been cool: he 
had answered small sarcastic compliments in 
good faith; and with his manly frankness had 



204 MRS - GASKELL 

overpowered all the shrinking which met him 
as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. 
And, at last, his excellent masculine common 
sense, and his facility in devising expedients to 
overcome domestic dilemmas, had gained him 
an extraordinary place as authority among the 
Cranford ladies. He himself went on in his 
course, as unaware of his popularity as he had 
been of the reverse. 

Cranford (1853), Ch, i 



CHARLES KINGSLEY 

87. Amy as Leigh's Dream 

" When you left me there upon the rock, lads, I 
looked away and out to sea, to get one last snuff 
of the merry sea breeze, which will never sail 
me again. And as I looked, I tell you truth, I 
could see the water and the sky ; as plain as ever 
I saw them, till I thought my sight was come 
again. But soon I knew it was not so ; for I 
saw more than man could see; right over the 
ocean, as I live, and away to the Spanish Main. 
And I saw Barbados, and Grenada, and all the 



CHARLES KINGSLEY 205 

isles that we ever sailed by; and La Guayra in 
Carraccas, and the Silla, and the house beneath 
it where she lived. And I saw him walking with 
her on the barbecu, and he loved her then. I 
saw what I saw; and he loved her; and I say 
he loves her still. 

" Then I saw the cliffs beneath me, and the 
Gull-rock, and the Shutter, and the Ledge ; I saw 
them, William Cary, and the weeds beneath the 
merry blue sea. And I saw the grand old gal- 
leon, Will ; she has righted with the sweeping 
of the tide. She lies in fifteen fathoms, at the 
edge of the rocks, upon the sand; and her men 
are all lying round her, asleep until the judgment- 
day." 

Cary and Jack looked at him, and then at each 
other. His eyes were clear, and bright, and 
full of meaning; and yet they knew that he was 
blind. His voice was shaping itself into a song. 
Was he inspired? Insane? What was it? And 
they listened with awe-struck faces, as the giant 
pointed down into the blue depths far below, 
and went on. 

" And I saw him sitting in his cabin, like a 
valiant gentleman of Spain ; and his officers were 



206 CHARLES KINGSLEY 

sitting round him, with their swords upon the 
table at the wine. And the prawns and the cray- 
fish and the rockling, they swam in and out 
above their heads: but Don Guzman he never 
heeded, but sat still, and drank his wine. Then 
he took a locket from his bosom ; and I heard 
him speak, Will, and he said : ' Here's the picture 
of my fair and true lady; drink to her, Senors 
all/ Then he spoke to me, Will, and called me, 
right up through the oarweed and the sea : ' We 
have had a fair quarrel, Sefior; it is time to be 
friends once more. My wife and your brother 
have forgiven me ; so your honour takes no stain.' 
And I answered, ' We are friends, Don Guzman ; 
God has judged our quarrel, and not we.' Then 
he said, ' I sinned, and I am punished.' And I 
said, ' And, Sefior, so am I.' Then he held out 
his hand to me, Cary; and I stooped to take it, 
and awoke." 

Westward Ho I (1855), Vol. iii., Ch. xii. 



JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 

88. England in Olden Days 

The habits of all classes were open, free, and 
liberal. There are two expressions correspond- 
ing one to the other, which we frequently meet 
with in old writings, and which are used as a 
kind of index, marking whether the condition of 
things was or was not what it ought to be. We 
read of " merry England ; " — when England was 
not merry, things were not going well with 
it. We hear of " the glory of hospitality/' Eng- 
land's pre-eminent boast, — by the rules of which 
all tables, from the table of the twenty-shilling 
freeholder to the table in the baron's hall and 
abbey refectory, were open at the dinner hour 
to all comers, without stint or reserve, or ques- 
tion asked : to every man, according to his de- 
gree, who chose to ask for it, there was free 
fare and free lodging; bread, beef, and beer for 
his dinner ; for his lodging, perhaps, only a mat 
of rushes in a spare corner of the hall, with a 
billet of wood for a pillow, but freely offered 
and freely taken, the guest probably faring much 
207 



208 JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 

as his host fared, neither worse nor better. 
There was little fear of an abuse of such licence, 
for suspicious characters had no leave to wander 
at pleasure ; and for any man found at large, 
and unable to give a sufficient account of him- 
self, there were the ever-ready parish stocks or 
town gaol. The " glory of hospitality " lasted 
far down into Elizabeth's time; and then, as 
Camden says, ' came in great bravery of build- 
ing, to the marvellous beautifying of the realm, 
but to the decay " of what he valued more. 

In such frank style the people lived, hating 
three things with all their hearts: idleness, 
want, and cowardice; and for the rest, carrying 
their hearts high, and having their heads full. 
The hour of rising, winter and summer, was 
four o'clock, with breakfast at five, after which 
the labourers went to work and the gentlemen 
to business, of which they had no little. In the 
country every unknown face was challenged and 
examined — if the account given was insufficient, 
he was brought before the justice; if the village 
shopkeeper sold bad wares, if the village cobbler 
made " unhonest " shoes, if servants and masters 
quarrelled, all was to be looked to by the justice ; 



JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 209 

there was no fear lest time should hang heavy 
with him. At twelve he dined; after dinner he 
went hunting, or to his farm, or to what he 
pleased. It was a life unrefined, perhaps, but 
coloured with a broad, rosy, English health. 

History of England (1856), Vol. i., Ch. i 



CHARLES DARWIN 

89. Conclusion 

Authors of the highest eminence seem to be 
fully satisfied with the view that each species 
has been independently created. To my mind it 
accords better with what we know of the laws 
impressed on matter by the Creator, that the 
production and extinction of the past and present 
inhabitants of the world should have been due to 
secondary causes, like those determining the 
birth and death of the individual. When I view 
all beings not as special creations, but as the lin- 
eal descendants of some few beings which lived 
long before the first bed of the Silurian system 
was deposited, they seem to me to become en- 
nobled. Judging from the past, we may safely 



210 CHARLES DARWIN 

infer that not one living species will transmit its 
unalterable likeness to a distant futurity. And 
of the species now living very few will transmit 
progeny of any kind to a far distant futurity; 
for the manner in which all organic beings are 
grouped, shows that the greater number of species 
of each genus, and all the species of many genera, 
have left no descendants, but have become utterly 
extinct. We can so far take a prophetic glance 
into futurity as to foretell that it will be the com- 
mon and widely-spread species, belonging to the 
larger and dominant groups, which will ultimately 
prevail- and procreate new and dominant species. 
As all the living forms of life are the lineal de- 
scendants of those which lived long before the 
Silurian epoch, we may feel certain that the ordi- 
nary succession by generation has never once 
been broken, and that no cataclysm has desolated 
the whole world. Hence we may look with some 
confidence to a secure future of equally inappre- 
ciable length. And as natural selection works 
solely by and for the good of each being, all cor- 
poreal and mental endowments will tend to pro- 
gress towards perfection. 

It is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank, 



CHARLES DARWIN 211 

clothed with many plants of many kinds, with 
birds singing on the bushes, with various insects 
flitting about, and with worms crawling through 
the damp earth, and to reflect that these elabo- 
rately constructed forms, so different from each 
other, and dependent upon each other in so com- 
plex a manner, have all been produced by laws 
acting around us. These laws, taken in the larg- 
est sense, being Growth with Reproduction; In- 
heritance which is almost implied by reproduc- 
tion ; Variability from the indirect and direct 
action of the external conditions of life, and from 
use and disuse : a Ratio of Increase so high as 
to lead to a Struggle for life, and as a conse- 
quence to Natural Selection, entailing Diver- 
gence of Character and the Extinction of less- 
improved forms. Thus, from the war of nature, 
from famine and death, the most exalted object 
which we are capable of conceiving, namely, the 
production of the higher animals, directly fol- 
lows. There is grandeur in this view of life, 
with its several powers, having been originally 
breathed into a few forms or into one ; and that, 
whilst this planet has gone cycling on according 
to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a be- 



212 CHARLES DARWIN 

ginning endless forms most beautiful and most 
wonderful have been, and are being evolved. 

The Origin of Species (1859), Ch. xiv 



JOHN BROWN 

90. A Reminiscence of an Uncle 

Uncle Ebenezer, on the other hand, flowed 
per saltum; he was always good and saintly, but 
he was great once a week; six days he brooded 
over his message, was silent, withdrawn, self- 
involved; on the Sabbath, that downcast, almost 
timid man, who shunned men, the instant he was 
in the pulpit, stood up a son of thunder. Such 
a voice ! such a piercing eye ! such an inevitable 
forefinger, held out trembling with the terrors 
of the Lord ; such a power of asking questions 
and letting them fall deep into the hearts of his 
hearers, and then answering them himself, with 
an " ah, sirs ! " that thrilled and quivered from 
him to them. 

I remember his astonishing us all with a sud- 
den burst. It was a sermon upon the apparent 
plus of evil in this world, and he had driven him- 



JOHN BROWN 213 

self and us all to despair — so much sin, so much 
misery — when, taking advantage of the chapter 
he had read, the account of the uproar at Ephesus 
in the Theatre, he said, " Ah, sirs ! what if some 
of the men who, for ' about the space of two 
hours/ cried out, ' Great is Diana of the Ephe- 
sians/ have for the space of eighteen hundred 
years and more been crying day and night, 
' Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God 
Almighty; just and true are all thy ways, thou 
King of saints ; who shall not fear thee, O Lord, 
and glorify thy name ? for thou only art holy/ " 
You have doubtless heard of the story of Lord 
Brougham going to hear him. It is very charac- 
teristic, and as I had it from Mrs. Cuninghame, 
who was present, I may be allowed to tell it. 
Brougham and Denman were on a visit to James 
Stuart of Dunearn, about the time of the Queen's 
trial. They had asked Stuart where they should 
go to church; he said he would take them to a 
Seceder minister at Inverkeithing. They went, 
and as Mr. Stuart had described the saintly old 
man, Brougham said he would like to be intro- 
duced to him, and arriving before service time, 
Mr. Stuart called, and left a message that some 



214 J° HN BR0WN 

gentlemen wished to see him. The answer was 
that " Maister " Brown saw nobody before di- 
vine worship. He then sent in Brougham and 
Denman's names. " Mr. Brown's compliments 
to Mr. Stuart, and he sees nobody before ser- 
mon/' and in a few minutes out came the stoop- 
ing shy old man, and passed them, unconscious 
of their presence. They sat in the front gallery, 
and he preached a faithful sermon, full of fire 
and of native force. They came away greatly 
moved, and each wrote to Lord Jeffrey to lose 
not a week in coming to hear the greatest natural 
orator they had ever heard. Jeffrey came next 
Sunday, and often after declared he never heard 
such words, such a sacred, untaught gift of 
speech. 

Letter to John Cairns, D. D. (i860) 



" GEORGE ELIOT " 

91. Godfrey Cass unburdens his Mind 

" Everything comes to light, Nancy, sooner or 
later. When God Almighty wills it, our secrets 
are found out. I've lived with a secret on my 



"GEORGE ELIOT " 215 

mind, but I'll keep it from you no longer. I 
wouldn't have you know it by somebody else, 
and not by me — I wouldn't have you find it out 
after I'm dead. I'll tell you now. It's been ' I 
will ' and ' I won't ' with me all my life — I'll 
make sure of myself now." 

Nancy's utmost dread had returned. The 
eyes of the husband and wife met with awe in 
them, as at a crisis which suspended affection. 

" Nancy," said Godfrey, slowly, " when I mar- 
ried you, I hid something from you — something 
I ought to have told you. That woman Marner 
found dead in the snow — Eppie's mother — that 
wretched woman — was my wife. Eppie is my 
child." 

He paused, dreading the effect of his confes- 
sion. But Nancy sat quite still, only that her 
eyes dropped and ceased to meet his. She was 
pale and quiet as a meditative statue, clasping 
her hands on her lap. 

" You'll never think the same of me again," 
said Godfrey, after a little while, with some 
tremor in his voice. 

She was silent. 

" I oughtn't to have left the child unowned : 



216 "GEORGE ELIOT" 

I oughtn't to have kept it from you. But I 
couldn't bear to give you up, Nancy. I was led 
away into marrying her — I suffered for it." 

Still Nancy was silent, looking down; and he 
almost expected that she would presently get up 
and say she would go to her father's. How 
could she have any mercy for faults that must 
seem so black to her, with her simple severe no- 
tions ? 

But at last she lifted up her eyes to his again 
and spoke. There was no indignation in her 
voice — only deep regret. 

" Godfrey, if you had but told me this six 
years ago, we could have done some of our duty 
by the child. Do you think I'd have refused to 
take her in, if I'd known she was yours ? " 

At that moment Godfrey felt all the bitterness 
of an error that was not simply futile, but had 
defeated its own end. He had not measured this 
wife with whom he had lived so long. But she 
spoke again, with more agitation. 

" And — O, Godfrey — if we'd had her from the 
first, if you'd taken to her as you ought, she'd 
have loved me for her mother — and you'd have 
been happier with me: I could better have bore 



"GEORGE ELIOT" 217 

my little baby dying, and our life might have 
been more like what we used to think it 'ud 
be." 

The tears fell, and Nancy ceased to speak. 

" But you wouldn't have married me then, 
Nancy, if I'd told you," said Godfrey, urged, in 
the bitterness of his self-reproach, to prove to 
himself that his conduct had not been utter folly. 
" You may think you would now, but you 
wouldn't then. With your pride and your 
father's, you'd have hated having anything to do 
with me after the talk there'd have been." 

" I can't say what I should have done about 
that, Godfrey. I should never have married any- 
body else. But I wasn't worth doing wrong for 
— nothing is in this world. Nothing is so good 
as it seems beforehand — not even our marrying 
wasn't, you see." There was a faint sad smile 
on Nancy's face as she said the last words. 

" I'm a worse man than you thought I was, 
Nancy," said Godfrey, rather tremulously. " Can 
you forgive me ever ? " 

" The wrong to me is but little, Godfrey : 
you've made it up to me — you've been good to 
me for fifteen years. It's another you did the 



2i8 "GEORGE ELIOT" 

wrong to; and I doubt it can never be all made 
up for." 

" But we can take Eppie now," said Godfrey. 
" I won't mind the world knowing at last. I'll 
be plain and open for the rest o' my life." 

" It'll be different coming to us, now she's 
grown up," said Nancy, shaking her head sadly. 
" But it's your duty to acknowledge her and pro- 
vide for her; and I'll do my part by her, and 
pray to God Almighty to make her love me." 

" Then we'll go together to Silas Marner's this 
very night, as soon as everything's quiet at the 
Stone-pits." 

Silas Marner (1861), Ch. xviii 



CHARLES READE 

92. A Scrupulous Conscience 

Impetuous natures repent quickly. Gerard was 
no sooner out of all danger than his conscience 
began to prick him. 

" Martin, would I had not struck quite so 
hard." 



CHARLES READE 219 

" Whom ? Oh ! let that pass ; he is cheap 
served." 

" Martin, I saw his grey hairs as my stick fell 
on him. I doubt they will not from my sight 
this while." 

Martin grunted with contempt. " Who spares 
a badger for his grey hairs? The greyer your 
enemy is, the older; and the older the craftier; 
and the craftier the better for a little killing." 

"Killing? killing, Martin? Speak not of kill- 
ing ! " and Gerard shook all over. 

" I am much mistook if you have not," said 
Martin cheerfully. 

" Now Heaven forbid ! " 

" The old vagabond's skull cracked like a 
walnut, aha ! " 

" Heaven and the saints forbid it ! " 

" He rolled off his mule like a stone shot out 
of a cart. Said I to myself, ' There is one wiped 
out,' " and the iron old soldier grinned ruthlessly. 

Gerard fell on his knees and began to pray for 
his enemy's life. 

x At this Martin lost his patience. " Here's 
mummery. What! you that set up for learning, 
know you not that a wise man never strikes his 



220 CHARLES READE 

enemy but to kill him? And what is all this coil 
about killing of old men? If it had been a young 
one, now, with the joys of life waiting for him, 
wine, women, and pillage ! But an old fellow at 
the edge of the grave, why not shove him in? 
Go he must, to-day or to-morrow ; and what bet- 
ter place for grey-beards? Now, if ever I should 
be so mischancy as to last so long as Ghysbrecht 
did, and have to go on a mule's legs instead of 
Martin Wittenhaagen's, and a back like this 
(striking the wood of his bow), instead of this 
(striking the string), I'll thank and bless any 
young fellow who will knock me on the head, 
as you have done that old shopkeeper; malison 
on his memory." 

" Oh, culpa mea ! culpa mea ! " cried Gerard, 
and smote upon his breast. 

" Look there ! " said Martin to Margaret scorn- 
fully, " he is a priest at heart still; and when he 
is not in ire, St. Paul, what a milksop ! " 

" Tush, Martin ! " cried Margaret reproach- 
fully: then she wreathed her arms round Gerard, 
and comforted him with the double magic of a 
woman's sense and a woman's voice. 

" Sweetheart," murmured she, " you forget : 



CHARLES READE 2 2l 

you went not a step out of the way to harm him, 
who hunted you to your death. You fled from 
him. He it was who spurred on you. Then did 
you strike ; but in self-defence and a single blow, 
and with that which was in your hand. Malice 
had drawn knife, or struck again and again. 
How often have men been smitten with staves 
not one but many blows, yet no lives lost ! If 
then your enemy has fallen, it is through his own 
malice, not yours, and by the will of God." 

" Bless you, Margaret ; bless you for think- 
ing so ! " 

The Cloister and the Hearth (1861), Ch. xix 

JOHN STUART MILL 

93. Character of his Wife 

In general spiritual characteristics, as well as in 
temperament and organization, I have often com- 
pared her, as she was at this time, to Shelley: 
but in thought and intellect, Shelley, so far as 
his powers were developed in his short life, was 
but a child compared with what she ultimately 
became. Alike in the highest regions of specula- 



222 JOHN STUART MILL 

tion and in the smaller practical concerns of daily 
life, her mind was the same perfect instrument, 
piercing to the very heart and marrow of the 
matter ; always seizing the essential idea or prin- 
ciple. The same exactness and rapidity of oper- 
ation, pervading as it did her sensitive as well as 
her mental faculties, would, with her gifts of 
feeling and imagination, have fitted her to be a 
consummate artist, as her fiery and tender soul 
and her vigorous eloquence would certainly have 
made her a great orator, and her profound knowl- 
edge of human nature and discernment and sa- 
gacity in practical life, would, in the times when 
such a carrier e was open to women, have made 
her eminent among the rulers of mankind. Her 
intellectual gifts did but minister to a moral 
character at once the noblest and the best bal- 
anced which I have ever met with in life. Her 
unselfishness was not that of a taught system of 
duties, but of a heart which thoroughly identi- 
fied itself with the feelings of others, and often 
went to excess in consideration for them by im- 
aginatively investing their feelings with the in- 
tensity of its own. The passion of justice might 
have been thought to be her strongest feelings, 






JOHN STUART MILL 223 

but for her boundless generosity, and a loving- 
ness ever ready to pour itself forth upon any or 
all human beings who were capable of giving 
the smallest feeling in return. The rest of her 
moral characteristics were such as naturally ac- 
company these qualities of mind and heart : the 
most genuine modesty combined with the lofti- 
est pride; a simplicity and sincerity which were 
absolute, towards all who were fit to receive 
them; the utmost scorn of whatever was mean 
and cowardly, and a burning indignation at 
everything brutal or tyrannical, faithless or dis- 
honourable in conduct and character, while mak- 
ing the broadest distinction between mala in se 
and mere mala prohibita — between acts giving 
evidence of intrinsic badness in feeling and char- 
acter, and those which are only violations of 
conventions either good or bad, violations which 
whether in themselves right or wrong, are ca- 
pable of being committed by persons in every 
other respect lovable or admirable. 

Autobiography {c. 1 861) 
Reprinted by kind permission of Messrs. Longman 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

94. " Our Daily Bread " 

Ah ! how wonderful ways and means are ! When 
I think how this very line, this very word, which 
I am writing represents money, I am lost in a 
respectful astonishment. A man takes his own 
case, as he says his own prayers, on behalf of him- 
self and his family. I am paid, we will say, for 
the sake of illustration, at the rate of sixpence 
per line. With the words, " Ah, how wonder- 
ful,^ to the words " per line," I can buy a loaf, 
a piece of butter, a jug of milk, a modicum of 
tea, — actually enough to make breakfast for the 
family ; and the servants of the house ; and the 
charwoman, their servant, can shake up the tea- 
leaves with a fresh supply of water, sop the 
crusts, and get a meal tant bien que mal. Wife, 
children, guests, servants, charwoman, we are all 
actually making a meal off Philip Firming bones 
as it were. And my next-door neighbour, whom 
I see marching away to chambers, umbrella in 
hand? And next door but one the City man? 
And next door but two the doctor? — I know the 
224 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 225 

baker has left loaves at every one of their doors 
this morning, that all their chimneys are smok- 
ing, and they will all have breakfast. Ah, thank 
God for it! I hope, friend, you and I are not 
too proud to ask for our daily bread, and to be 
grateful for getting it? Mr. Philip had to work 
for his, in care and trouble, like other children of 
men : — to work for it, and I hope to pray for it, 
too. It is a thought to me awful and beautiful, 
that of the daily prayer, and of the myriads of 
fellow-men uttering it, in care and in sickness, 
in doubt and in poverty, in health and in wealth. 
Panem nostrum da nobis hodie. Philip whispers 
it by the bedside where wife and child lie sleep- 
ing, and goes to his early labour with a stouter 
heart: as he creeps to his rest when the day's 
labour is over, and the quotidian bread is earned, 
and breathes his hushed thanks to the bountiful 
Giver of the meal. All over this world what an 
endless chorus is singing of love, and thanks, 
and prayer. Day tells to day the wondrous story, 
and night recounts it unto night. — How do I 
come to think of a sunrise which I saw near 
twenty years ago on the Nile, when the river and 
sky flushed and glowed with the dawning light, 



226 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

and as the luminary appeared, the boatman knelt 
on the rosy deck, and adored Allah ? So, as thy 
sun rises, friend, over the humble housetops 
round about your home, shall you wake many 
and many a day to duty and labour. May the 
task have been honestly done when the night 
comes; and the steward deal kindly with the 
labourer. 

The Adventures of Philip (1862), Ch. xxxv 



CARDINAL NEWMAN 

95. Newman at Fifteen 

When I was fifteen, (in the autumn of 1816,) a 
great change of thought took place in me. I fell 
under the influences of a definite Creed, and re- 
ceived into my intellect impressions of dogma, 
which, through God's mercy, have never been 
effaced or obscured. Above and beyond the con- 
versations and sermons of the excellent man, 
long dead, who was the human means of this 
beginning of divine faith in me, was the effect 
of the books which he put into my hands, all of 



CARDINAL NEWMAN 227 

the school of Calvin. One of the first books I 
read was a work of Romaine's ; I neither recollect 
the title nor the contents, except one doctrine, 
which of course I do not include among those 
w T hich I believe to have come from a divine 
source, viz. the doctrine of final perseverance. 
I received it at once, and believed that the in- 
ward conversion of which I was conscious, (and 
of which I still am more certain than that I 
have hands and feet,) would last into the next 
life, and that I was elected to eternal glory. I 
have no consciousness that this belief had any 
tendency whatever to lead me to be careless about 
pleasing God. I retained it till the age of twenty- 
one, w T hen it gradually faded away; but I be- 
lieve that it had some influence on my opinions, 
in the direction of those childish imaginations 
which I have already mentioned, viz. in isolating 
me from the objects which surrounded me, in 
confirming me in my mistrust of the reality of 
material phenomena, and making me rest in the 
thought of two and two only supreme and lumi- 
nously self-evident beings, myself and my Crea- 
tor; — for while I considered myself predestined 
to salvation, I thought others simply passed over, 



228 CARDINAL NEWMAN 

not predestined to eternal death. I only thought 
of the mercy to myself. 

Apologia pro Vita sua (1864), Ch. ill 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 

96. Rallying the Philistine 

xAt that time my avocations led me to travel 
almost daily on one of the Great Eastern lines, — 
the Woodford Branch. Every one knows that 
Miiller perpetrated his detestable act on the 
North London Railway, close by. The English 
middle class, of which I am myself a feeble unit, 
travel on the Woodford Branch in large num- 
bers. Well, the demoralisation of our class, — 
which (the newspapers are constantly saying it, 
so I may repeat it without vanity) has done all 
the great things which have ever been done in 
England, — the demoralisation, I say, of our class, 
caused by the Bow tragedy, was something be- 
wildering. Myself a transcendentalist (as the 
Saturday Review knows), I escaped the infec- 
tion ; and, day after day, I used to ply my agitated 
fellow-travellers with all the consolations which 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 229 

my transcendentalism, and my turn for the 
French, would naturally suggest to me. I re- 
minded them how Caesar refused to take precau- 
tions against assassination, because life was not 
worth having at the price of an ignoble solicitude 
for it. I reminded them what insignificant atoms 
we all are in the life of the world. " Suppose 
the worst to happen," I said, addressing a portly 
jeweller from Cheapside; " suppose even your- 
self to be the victim ; il n'y a pas d'honvme neces- 
saire. We should miss you for a day or two 
upon the Woodford Branch ; but the great mun- 
dane movement would still go on; the gravel 
walks of your villa would still be rolled ; divi- 
dends would still be paid at the Bank ; omnibuses 
would still run; there would still be the old 
crush at the corner of Fenchurch Street." All 
was of no avail. Nothing could moderate, in 
the bosom of the great English middle class, their 
passionate, absorbing, almost blood-thirsty cling- 
ing to life. 

Essays in Criticism (1865), Preface 



EDWARD FITZGERALQ 

97. To Fanny Kemble 

I — we — have finished all Sir Walter's Scotch 
Novels; and I thought I would try an English 
one: Kenilworth — a wonderful Drama, which 
Theatre, Opera, and Ballet (as I once saw it 
represented) may well reproduce. The Scene at 
Greenwich, where Elizabeth " interviews " Sussex 
and Leicester, seemed to me as fine as what is 
called (I am told, wrongly) Shakespeare's Henry 
VIII. Of course, plenty of melodrama in most 
other parts : — but the Plot wonderful. 

Then — after Sir Walter — Dickens' Copperfield, 
which came to an end last night because I would 
not let my Reader read the last chapter. What a 
touch when Peggotty — the man — at last finds 
the lost Girl, and — throws a handkerchief over 
her face when he takes her to his arms — never 
to leave her ! I maintain it — a little Shakespeare 
— a Cockney Shakespeare, if you will: but as 
distinct, if not so great, a piece of pure Genius 
as was born in Stratford. Oh, I am quite sure of 
that, had I to choose but one of them, I would 

230 



EDWARD FITZGERALD 



231 



choose Dickens' hundred delightful Caricatures 
rather than Thackeray's half-dozen terrible Pho- 
tographs. 

Letters (1879) 
Reprinted by kind permission of Messrs. Macmillan 



GEORGE MEREDITH 

98. Banter before Dinner 

" But tell Dr. Middleton," said she, " I fear I 
shall have no one worthy of him ! And," she 
added to Willoughby, as she walked out to her 
carriage, " I shall expect you to do the great- 
gunnery talk at table." 

" Miss Dale keeps it up with him best," said 
Willoughby. 

" She does everything best ! But my dinner- 
table is involved, and I cannot count on a young 
woman to talk across it. I would hire a lion of 
a menagerie, if one were handy, rather than have 
a famous scholar at my table unsupported by an- 
other famous scholar. Dr. Middleton would ride 
down a duke when the wine is in him. He will 
terrify my poor flock. The truth is, we can't 



232 GEORGE MEREDITH 

leaven him: I foresee undigested lumps of con- 
versation, unless you devote yourself/' 

" I will devote myself," said Willoughby. 

" I can calculate on Colonel De Craye and our 
porcelain beauty for any quantity of sparkles, if 
you promise that. They play well together. You 
are not to be one of the Gods to-night, but a kind 
of Jupiter's cupbearer ; — Juno's, if you like : and 
Lady Busshe and Lady Culmer, and all your ad- 
mirers shall know subsequently what you have 
done. You see my alarm. I certainly did not 
rank Professor Crooklyn among the possibly 
faithless, or I never would have ventured on Dr. 
Middleton at my table. My dinner-parties have 
hitherto been all successes. Naturally I feel the 
greater anxiety about this one. For a single 
failure is all the more conspicuous. The excep- 
tion is everlastingly cited ! It is not so much 
what people say, but my own sentiments. I hate 
to fail. However, if you are true we may do." 

" Whenever the great gun goes off I will fall 
on my face, madam ! " 

The Egoist (1879), Ch. xxix 
Reprinted by kind permission of Messrs. Constable 



WALTER PATER 

99. The Death of Marias 

For there remained also, for the old earthy crea- 
ture still within him, that great blessedness of 
physical slumber. To sleep, to lose oneself in 
sleep — that, as he had recognised always, was a 
good thing. And it was after a space of deep 
sleep that he awoke amid the murmuring voices 
of the people who had kept and tended him so 
carefully through his sickness, now kneeling 
around his bed : and what he heard confirmed, in 
his, then perfect, clearness of soul, the spontane- 
ous suggestion of his own bodily feeling. He 
had often dreamt that he had been condemned to 
die, that the hour, with wild thoughts of escape, 
had arrived ; and waking, with the sun all around 
him, in complete liberty of life, had been full of 
gratitude, for his place there, alive still, in the 
land of the living. He read, surely, now, in the 
manner, the doings, of these people, some of 
whom were passing away through the doorway, 
where the sun still lay heavy and full, that his 
last morning was come, and turned to think 

233 



234 WALTER PATER 

again of the beloved. Of old, he had often fan- 
cied that not to die on a dark and rainy day 
would itself have a little alleviating grace or 
favour about it. The people around his bed were 
praying fervently — Abi! Abi! anima Christiana! 
In the moments of his extreme helplessness their 
mystic bread had been placed, had descended like 
a snow-flake from the sky, between his lips. 
Soothing fingers had applied to hands and feet, 
to all those old passage-ways of the senses, 
through which the world had come and gone 
from him, now so dark and obstructed, a medi- 
cinable oil. It was the same people, who, in the 
grey, austere evening of that day, took up his re- 
mains, and buried them secretly, with their ac- 
customed prayers; but with joy also, holding his 
death, according to their generous view in this 
matter, to have been of the nature of a martyr- 
dom; and martyrdom, as the church had always 
said, a kind of sacrament with plenary grace. 

Marcus the Epicurean (1885), Ch, xxviii 
Reprinted by kind permission of Messrs. Macmillan 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

100. An Eventful Sabbath Morning 

On this particular Sunday, there was no doubt 
but that the spring had come at last. It was 
warm, with a latent shiver in the air that made 
the warmth only the more welcome. The shal- 
lows of the stream glittered and tinkled among 
bunches of primrose. Vagrant scents of the 
earth arrested Archie by the way with moments 
of ethereal intoxication. The grey, Quakerish 
dale was still only awakened in places and patches 
from the sobriety of its winter colouring; and he 
wondered at its beauty; an essential beauty of 
the old earth it seemed to him, not resident in 
particulars but breathing to him from the whole. 
He surprised himself by a sudden impulse to 
write poetry — he did so sometimes, loose, gal- 
loping octosyllabics in the vein of Scott — and 
when he had taken his place on a boulder, near 
some fairy falls and shaded by a whip of a tree 
that was already radiant with new leaves, it 
still more surprised him that he should find noth- 
ing to write. His heart perhaps beat in time to 

235 



236 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

some vast indwelling rhyme of the universe. By 
the time he came to a corner of the valley and 
could see the kirk, he had so lingered by the way 
that the first psalm was finishing. The nasal 
psalmody, full of turns and trills and graceless 
graces, seemed the essential voice of the kirk 
itself upraised in thanksgiving. " Everything's 
alive," he said ; and again cries it aloud " thank 
God, everything's alive ! " He lingered yet awhile 
in the kirk-yard. A tuft of primroses was bloom- 
ing hard by the leg of an old, black table tomb- 
stone, and he stopped to contemplate the random 
apologue. They stood forth on the cold earth 
with a trenchancy of contrast ; and he was struck 
with a sense of incompleteness in the day, the 
season, and the beauty that surrounded him — 
the chill there was in the warmth, the gross black 
clods about the opening primroses, the damp 
earthy smell that was everywhere intermingled 
with the scents. The voice of the aged Tor- 
rance within rose in an ecstasy. And he won- 
dered if Torrance also felt in his old bones the 
joyous influence of the spring morning; Tor- 
rance, or the shadow of what once was Torrance, 
that must come so soon to lie outside here in the 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 



237 



sun and rain with 1 all his rheumatisms, while a 
new minister stood in his room and thund.ered 
from his own familiar pulpit? The pity of it, 
and something of the chill of the grave, shook 
him for a moment as he made haste to enter. 

Weir of Hermiston (1896), Ch. vi 
Reprinted by kind permission of Messrs. Chatto 



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